
Class T^S^Si) 

Boot MFf 

DOBELL COLLECTION 



FOKGET ME NOT 

AIL. 

VERSES. 



BY 



FREDERIC SHOBERL. 

II 



" Forget Me Not, in short, is a desire implanted by the 

God of Nature in the human breast, and, if I mistake not, of kindred 
origin to that ' longing after Immortality,' which is the parent of the 
sublimest virtues, of the highest and holiest emotions." 

From the Preface to " Forget Me Not," for 1844. 



LONDON: 



PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION ONLY. 



1850. 



«tf* 



5A- 



5° 




205449 
.'13 



PREFACE. 



The following metrical compositions owed their 
origin to my connexion with the first of the Annuals, 
Forget Me Not, which was under my superintendence, 
as Editor, from its commencement to its close, and 
in which they were at various times inserted. Their 
poetical worth it is not for me to appreciate ; but sure 
I am that among right-minded readers there can be 
but one opinion respecting the spirit that breathes in 
these effusions. 

A word in relation to the first of them may not be 
superfluous. In the year 1825, at the time when 
the volume for the following year was very nearly 
completed at press, Mr. Ackerniann, the Publisher, 
felt disappointed in not receiving contributions pro- 
mised by Mr. Henry Neele, whose name he was de- 
sirous of including in the list of our literary assistants. 
Application being made by letter to Mr. Neele, he 
excused himself on the plea of severe illness, and sent 

the Stanzas placed at the head of my little collection. 

a2 



4 PREFACE. 

These I should have rejected without hesitation, as 
inculcating downright materialism — a doctrine utterly 
irreconcilable with my own most cheering hopes and 
deepest convictions. Finding, however, that this 
course would displease, I had no alternative but to 
send forth with the Stanzas as strong a protest as pos- 
sible against a creed which tends, according to my 
view, to stifle every virtuous principle, and to ex- 
tinguish all the highest and holiest aspirations of our 
nature. Such were the motives which led to the pro- 
duction of the first of my pieces entitled Remon- 
strance. 

The preceding explanation seemed necessary, in 
order to account for the introduction of the obnoxious 
Stanzas both in the volume of Forget Me Not and 
in these pages. 

Other circumstances have since occurred to render 
the Stanzas to which Henry Neele affixed his name 
rather remarkable to me. 

Having occasion, many years ago, to refer to a 
small volume of one of our older poets, (whose name 
I cannot recollect) printed in the first half of the 1 7th 
century, and quoted by Chateaubriand in his History 
of English Literature, I was surprised to stumble 
upon a piece of which Neele's Stanzas appeared to 
be a transcript — I say appeared — for I had not oppor- 



PREFACE. b 

tunity to compare the two. Far be it from me, 
without due investigation, to charge Mr. Neele with 
plagiarism; but I was certainly much struck with 
the resemblance. 

Since then, among Cowper's translations, I have 
met with one professedly made from a Latin poem 
by Dr. Jortin. This, in order to show the family 
likeness, in the spirit, if not in the diction, I tran- 
scribe from the Rev. T. S. Grimshawe's edition of 
Cowper's Works (vol. viii., p. 423). 

Suns that set, and moons that wane, 
Rise, and are restored again ; 
Stars, that orient day subdues, 
Night, at her return, renews ; 
Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth 
Of the genial womb of earth, 
Suffer but a transient death 
From the Winter's cruel breath ; 
Zephyr speaks, serener skies 
Warm the glebe, and they arise. 
We, alas ! Earth's haughty kings, 
We that promise mighty things, 
Losing soon Life's happy prime, 
Droop and fade in little time. 
Spring returns, but not our bloom ; 
Still 'tis Winter in the tomb. 
January, 1784. 

If Cowper pleased himself in this translation, I am 
certain that no scholar would be satisfied with so 



6 PREFACE. 

slovenly a performance. Who could expect for 
instance to find 

nee nos ordo revolubilis auras 
Reddit in aethereas, tumuli neque claustra resolvit — 

dismissed in the last English line ! 

The only conclusion that I am disposed to draw 
from the circumstances here detailed is this — that 
Dr. Jortin took for his original those lines of the 
Poet of the seventeenth century to which I have 
adverted ; Cowper's being avowedly a translation of 
Jortin's Latin version: and that Neele, probably 
acquainted with the performance of that older poet 
as well as Cowper's, and, penetrated with the spirit of 
both, when he sat down to write upon the subject, fell 
into the same strain of thought, and unconsciously 
clothed it in nearly the same language as his prede- 
cessors. 

Every friend of his kind must join in reprobating 
and combating materialist notions, as manifestly 
tending to encourage self-destruction. The lamen- 
table end of poor Neele is too well known to need 
being cited in evidence. 



FORGET ME NOT 

VERSES. 



STANZAS. 

Suns will set, and moons will wane, 
Yet they rise, and wax again ; 
Trees, that Winter's storms subdue, 
Their leafy livery renew ; 
Ebb and flow is Ocean's lot ; 
But Man lies down and rises not : 
Heaven and Earth shall pass away, 
Ere shall wake his slumbering clay. 

Vessels but to havens steer ; 
Paths denote a resting near ; 
Rivers flow into the main ; 
Icefalls rest upon the plain ; 



REMONSTRANCE. 

The final end of all is known : — 
Man to darkness goes alone : 
Cloud, and doubt, and mystery, 
Hide his future destiny. 

Nile, whose waves their bound'ries burst, 
Slakes the torrid desert's thirst; 
Dew, descending on the hills, 
Life in Nature's veins instils ; 
Show'rs. that on the parch' d meads fall, 
Their faded loveliness recall : 
Man alone sheds tears of pain — 
Weeps — but ever weeps in vain ! — 

Henry Neele. 



REMONSTRANCE. 

ADDRESSED TO THE WRITER OE THE PRECEDING 
STANZAS. 

Christian Minstrel, sing'st thou so ? — 
Is Man born but to grief and woe? — 
Doth he alone shed tears of pain, 
Weep, and ever weep in vain? 
Hid is his future destiny 
In cloud, and doubt, and mystery? 

Far better, then, indeed, had Man 
Perish'd ere his brief race began ; 
Better he ne'er had seen the day, 
Nor felt the sun's enlivening ray, 



REMONSTRANCE. 

Nor learnt the charms divine to trace 
That bloom on Nature's lovely face ! 

But can it be? — And when this clay 

Or soon or later must decay, 

Shall Keason's torch, shall Genius' fire, 

Love, Friendship, Charity, expire? 

Shall all those high imaginings 

Which lift us far o'er earthly things — 

Those lofty hopes, which seek the skies — 

That Mind, which through Creation flies ; 

Plunges to Ocean's depths — explores, 

With daring ken, Earth's hidden stores — 

Which scales the heavens, and measures there 

The glorious planets' vast career — 

And, bounding on through realms untrod 

By mortal foot, ascends to God — 

These — shall these perish? — Wherefore, then, 

Minstrel, were they given to men? 

What though the body sink to rest, 

Like weary babe on nurse's breast, 

And to its kindred dust return, 

There lives a spark which still shall burn. 

Nor can this spark, howe'er defin'd, 

Psyche or spirit, soul or mind, 

Offspring of an Eternal Sire, 

Like things of grovelling dust expire ! 

Then, Christian Minstrel, sing not so ; 
Man is not born to gloom and woe : 



10 REMONSTRANCE. 

Sure as lie lies down he shall rise, 
And gain his proper home — the skies ; 
And though he here shed tears of pain, 
He shall not ever weep in vain. 
Assured of Virtue's endless meed, 
He walks the path by Heaven decreed, 
Cheer' d by his glorious destiny — 
Life, Light, and Immortality. 

'Tis not Religion's Voice alone 

Which makes this joyful doctrine known; 

But Reason, too, proclaims that Man, 

When he has run his earthly span, 

And left his mortal dross behind, 

Shall, in a higher sphere refined, 

Perfect those energies divine 

Which through his humbler nature shine. 

Then, Minstrel, tune thy Lyre again ; 
Sound a more sweet and soothing strain; 
Let thy melodious numbers wake 
Hopes that no doubt may ever shake ; 
Teach that the ills which here assail 
'Gainst Virtue's pow'r shall nought avail; 
That, this brief state of trial o'er, 
Sorrow and pain annoy no more ; 
And Man — not a mere breathing clod — 
Man lives for ever, like his God ! 



THE MATRIMONIAL RULE. 11 



THE MATRIMONIAL EULE. 

INSCRIBED IN THE ALBUM OF A YOUNG LADY ON THE EVE OF MARRIAGE. 

'Tis morning — o'er the new- waked earth 
The sun his brightest radiance flings, 

And nought is heard save sounds of mirth, 
And all around with gladness rings. 

Anon, light clouds begin to rise, 

While eddying breezes sweep along ; 

Dark and more dark they veil the skies, 
And storm-winds drown the voice of Song. 

So, lady, do we often see 

The morn of matrimonial life 
All smiles, all joy, all gaiety, 

Its noon obscured by feuds and strife. 

But would you know a charm of power 
To assure the sunshine of the heart, 

To break the tempests that will lower, 
To blunt the point of Discord's dart — 

Bear and Forbear — no wiser given 

Than this short rule, which, practised well, 

Makes marriage even on earth a heaven, 
Neglected, turns it to a hell. 



12 THE WISH. 



THE WISH. 

'Tis sweet along the pebbled shore 

The solitary path to trace, 
To list the billows' endless roar, 

To witness their eternal chase. 

'Tis sweet — how sweet! —at dewy eve 
'Neath jessamine and woodbine bow'rs, 

Where Fancy loves fair scenes to weave, 
To muse away the moonlight hours. 

But sweeter far to gaze, I ween, 
On Woman's soul-illumin'd eye, 

When heavenly thoughts light up her mien 
With more than earthly ecstasy; 

To watch the gems of pity start, 
And on that eye's soft fringes hang, 

Mute language of the tender heart, 

Pure as the fount from which they sprang ; 

To drink with greedy ear the stream 
Of music from her witching voice, 

That melts the soul to Sorrow's theme, 
Or bids its every nerve rejoice; 



THE WISH. 13 

To find in pain, in weal, in woe, 
A pillow on the one-loved breast : 

Let me, kind Fate, snch transport know — 
Take wealth, and fame, and all the rest. 



14 WHERE IS GOD? 



WHERE IS GOD? 

Where is He? — Ask His emblem, 

The glorious — glorious sun, 
Who glads the round world with his beams, 

Ere his day's long course is run. 
Where is He? — Ask the stars that keep 

Their nightly watch on high. 
Where is He? — Ask the pearly dews, 

The tear-drops of the sky. 

Where is He ? — Ask the secret founts 

Which feed the boundless deep ; 
The dire simoom, the soft night-breeze, 

That lulls the earth to sleep. 
Where is He? — Ask the storm of fire 

Which bursts from Etna's womb, 
And ask the glowing lava-flood, 

That makes the land a tomb. 

Where is He? — Ask the Maelstrom's whirl, 
Shivering tall pines, like glass ; 

Ask the giant oak, the graceful flower, 
Or the simplest blade of grass. 



WHERE IS GOD? 15 

Where is He? — Ask Behemoth, 

Who drink eth rivers dry; 
The ocean-king Leviathan, 

Or the scarce- seen atom fly. 

Where is He? — Ask the awful calm 

On mountain-tops that rests, 
And the bounding, thund'ring avalanche* 

Rent from their rugged crests ; 
Ask the wide-wasting hurricane, 

Careering in its might; 
The thunder- crash, the lightning-blaze, 

Earth all convulsed with fright. 

Where is He ? — Ask the crystal isles 

On arctic seas that sail; 
Or ask, from lands of balm and spice, 

The perfume-breathing gale, 
Where in the universe is found 

That Presence-favour'd spot — 
All — all — proclaim His dwelling-place — 

But say — Where is He not? 



16 THE PROPHET. 



THE PROPHET. 

WRITTEN TO ACCOMPANY AN ENGRAVING IN THE JUVENILE FORGET 
ME NOT FOR 1830. 

In by-gone times — my unlearned pen 
Can't specify precisely when — 
There lived a Seer; remote from all 
The cares that social life enthrall, 
He mark'd the seasons and their changes — 
Mark'd where the eccentric comet ranges : 
He knew the planets' courses too ; 
Knew every herb and flower that grew ; 
And all their virtues could apply 
To form the sovereign remedy. 

He had, moreover, a deep knowledge — 

Not taught at school, nor even at college — 

Of that perverse, capricious thing, 

The human heart, at once the spring 

Of good and ill ; and could right well 

Alike your thoughts and fortunes tell. 

So all the country said — and you 

Have heard what all say must be true — 

Hence, though you may be doubtful of it, 

They named him nothing but " The Prophet." 



THE PROPHET. 17 

Not yet had fifty winters shed 

Their hoary influence o'er his head : 

Age had not robb'd his cheek's rich dye, 

Nor dimm'd the lustre of his eye, 

Nor furrow'd his majestic face, 

Although an antique air and grace 

His curling beard and ample dress 

Join'd on his figure to impress ; 

While in his life a pattern he 

Di splay' d of pure philanthropy. 

A loose robe wrapp'd his manly form 

Alike from sunshine and from storm; 

And in a sweet embower' d nook, 

On the green bank of murmuring brook, 

Near verge of ever- changing sea — 

The picture of Inconstancy — 

In hermitage of ivied stone, 

The stately Prophet dwelt alone. 

When heaven, and earth, and deep, were 

calm, 
And evening breezes shed their balm, 
On rocky cliff he lov'd to stray, 
And linger till the close of day. 
There would he gaze, with stedfast look, 
On Nature's fair expanded book : 
Or oft with studious eye explore 
Tomes penn'd by learned wights of yore ; 
And wisdom glean from both, until 
He seem'd a living oracle. 



THE PROPHET. 

Here, while lie mused, the maidens gay 
From country round would bend their way, 
And to the Prophet's lore apply 
To learn their future destiny. 
Then would he take the inquirer's hand, 
And, as he spoke with accents bland, 
Humouring their fancies, seek the while 
To blend instruction with his style ; 
Intent they eyed the godlike man, 
As in such strain his lesson ran : — 

" Fair child, behold yon placid sea, 

The image of a mind at rest, 
Enjoying, from wild passions free, 

The tranquil sunshine of the breast. 

" But ah ! how soon the gathering storm 
May wreak its rage, and change the scene ; 

The polished mirror may deform 

And leave no trace of what hath been. 

" So farewell to thy bosom's peace, 
If once to sin thou yield'st thy heart : 

Too sure thy happiness must cease 
When thou and innocence shall part. 

" Whatever chance may thee betide, 

Whate'er affliction thee befall, 
With Virtue for thy friend and guide, 

Contented thou may'st bear it all. 



THE PROPHET. 19 

" Then guard, sweet damsel, guard with care 
Against the approach of vice and sin ; 

And let thy youthful heart beware — 
Our direst foes oft lurk within. 

" Beware of pride and vain desires, 
The lust of wealth and worldly joy ; 

Beware of Love's unhallowed fires, 

Which light, which burn, but to destroy. 

" Frail is our strength— the struggle hard — 
But place thy confidence in Heaven ; 

Thy firmness it will sure reward — 
Its aid will at thy pray'r be given." 



20 THE SEARCH AFTER GOD. 



THE SEARCH AFTER GOD. 1 

Can'st thou, by searching, find out God ? 

Job, xi., 7. 

Thee seeks my spirit, 
Thee, Father of Spirits, Thee, the Uncreate, 
Round whose eternal throne, in boundless space, 
Blaze myriad suns in gorgeous majesty, 
Whom Earth's revolving ages trembling guess'd at, 
Had named, but knew not, 

Thee, Thee, I seek! 

Thee, Thee, I seek! — 
Why hidest thou Thy face ? — 
Was it not Thou whose fiat bade me be? 
Could I call forth my being ere I was? 
Mere emanation of Thy living light, 
Most marvellously enwrapt in earthly mould — 
Father of all things, Thou, too, art my sire : 
Thy offspring calls Thee — calls and knows Thee not: 
Why dost Thou hide Thee from my longing eyes? 

1 From the German of Heinrich Zschokke, a distinguished German 
writer, the collection of whose avowed productions extends to forty 
volumes. He is also the reputed author of Stunden der Andacht (Hours 
of Devotion), in eight volumes octavo, the very numerous editions of 
which work attest its extraordinary popularity. 



THE SEARCH AFTER GOD. 21 

Thee have I sought; 
Upborne on Pray'rs strong pinions have I soar'd : 
The while this frame sank prostrate in the dust, 
Its mortal eyes bedimm'd with tears of Love, 
Through the etherial dome my spirit ranged, 
And, in its anxious course from world to world, 
Sought Thee, and cried — the worlds gave back the 

cry — 
" Sire of the Universe, reveal Thyself I" 
Infinity in silence heard the call ; 
Earth, planets, suns, held on their wonted course — 
The course prescribed from deep Eternity : 
And, shuddering, loving, weeping, I awoke. 
From the fond dream of faith. 
The voice of Nature thunder' d in mine ear, 
But Thy parental voice — I heard it not : 
I saw but traces of Thy power, not Thee ! 

Thee, Thee I sought, 
Whom all the tongues of all the Spirits praise. 
I listen' d to the words of Saint and Sage ; 
And Priests, and Bonzes, Lamas, and Imans, 
Loudly proclaim'd Thy glory. 

Proclaimed Thy glory? 
No, holy Sire of all the things that be, 
Not Thee, themselves their blinded hearts proclaim'd. 
Not to Thy glory bigots whet the sword — 
Not to Thy glory build they scaffolds up — 
Not to Thy glory, though in Thy blest name, 
Hurls the proud Pontiff his anathemas. 
Fired by the lust of power, not love of Thee, 



22 THE SEARCH AFTER GOD. 

They prey, more cruel than the ravening beasts 
That roam the Afric deserts, on their kind. 

Thee I have sought, 
Thou Omnipresent, Unrevealed One! 
Arm'd with the torch of Science, have explor'd 
Nature's most secret chambers. I have seen 
The stream of Life pour its unmeasured tide 
Through Animal and Vegetation's tribes ; 
I've seen in the acid drop a populous sea, 
And in a leaf a town of busy beings ; 
I've seen the crystal into vapour melt, 
And torrents gush from airs invisible ; 
The electric power, with wondrous influence, 
Pervade all Nature ; in the magnet draw, 
Repel in the torpedo ; glance like wings 
Of fire around the pole ; and glad the Earth 
With blessings shed from the riven thunder-cloud. 

At last I stood alone — and shudd'ring stood — 
Upon the verge of Nature, on her shores 
Of matter crude, inert, inanimate, 
Where break the ever-restless waves of life, 
Forming and decomposing. There I cried : 
O God! — my God! — where art Thou? 
Is then this ceaseless strife 'twixt life and death — 
Each in its turn absorbing and absorbed — 
Is this Creation's Uncreated Cause? 
If it be so, then is one lightning thought, 
Forth flashing from my mind, far more divine 
Than this blind working of the elements. 



THE SEARCH AFTER GOD. 23 

I float above their fathomless abyss, 
Self-conscious over the unconscious waste, 
A brilliant light o'er brooding darkness hung, 
A free volition over will-less matter. 
Who saith Almighty Power is present here? 
Where is His bounty?— where His wisdom? — where 
His loving kindness? — where His holiness? 
He who the ear hath planted, shall not He, 
Too, hear ? — He who the wonders of the eye 
Contrived, shall He not see ? — He who hath taught 
The Spirits knowledge, ah ! shall he not know ? 
Him, the Life-giver, have I eager sought, 
And found but life — Him, the All- wise, I sought, 
And found but wisdom — Him, the Bountiful, 
And found but love. 

Thee have I sought. I ask'd in the high heavens, 

Where Sirius and Orion dimly shine, 

Where their eternal round about the pole 

Cassiopeia and Bootes dance, 

Where, through the Moon's phosphor-bright plains, 

the streams 
Of burning lava from her mountains flow — 
No sound responded thence. And I beheld 
The snow-white axis of great Jupiter; 
And, circled by his golden ring, explor'd 
Far Saturn and the farther Uranus. 
I mounted to the Sun's resplendent orb, 
Onward from star to star, and, onward still, 
To where no stars shine more — where a faint gleam 
Steals through the darkling void of the Infinite, 



24 THE SEARCH AFTER GOD. 

From suns which human eye have never lit; 
And in my anxious search for Thee I saw 
The Inscrutable — there traced Thy Providence — 
My Father's everlasting mansion found, 
But saw not Thee. 

Down from the immeasurable heights of heaven 

I shrank again to my familiar dust : 

I wept, and cried aloud:—" He who hath framed 

The wondrous fabric of the Universe — 

He who bestoweth unimagined joys 

On myriad tribes which crowd its every nook — 

Needs He a worm like me? 
Yet hath He given me in His house a place, 
And who am I that He remembereth me ? 

Yet me He doth remember." 

Anon, all generations of the Earth, 

Since its creation, pass'd before my sight 

And disappear' d : the tyrant's transient rule 

Over his fettered millions I beheld — 

Beheld the nations' mad and bloody wars, 

For glory, wealth, and power, Ambition's aims, 

Nay, for the airy shadow of a dream. 

Alas ! Man's history is but a web 

Of Frenzy's joys and sorrows. The Most Holy 

Upon the cross yielded his innocent life, 

While Guilt has led to laurell'd victory ; 

Yet from each folly's grave hath wisdom sprung. 

As from the sullen mineral the flame, 

Transforming darkness into light, ascends 



THE SEARCH AFTER GOD. 25 

And heavenward aspires, so, too, aspires, 

So, too, ascends from perishable dust 

The spirit to the Imperishable Source. 

Humanity, what contrasts meet in Thee, 

Thy feet yet plunged i' th' depths of ancient Night, 

Thy brow all radiant with the light of God ! 

In vain hath happiness supreme been sought 

In gold or power, in pleasure or in fame : 

The highest knowledge of the wise at last 

Is to be undeceived I'm undeceived — 

In dust I sought God, and I found but dust ! 

And all these thrones, worlds, suns — what are they? 

—dust ! 
No kindred the Immortal Spirit owns, 
But to the Father of immortal things. 

I shall be His, 
When this frail body hath gone down to dust ; 

I shall be His, 
When e'en the solid globe itself dissolves, 
When the Sun's splendour long hath been extinct, 
Still shall the Godhead's glorious light shine on, 
And of that light a feeble spark be mine ! 

No, not in dust — 'tis in the Spirit alone 
The glory of its Maker is revealed. — 
I am in Him ! — in me, through me, He speaks. 
Who, if not He himself, taught Man his name ? — 
Who gave him knowledge of the Invisible ? — 
Who turn'd his face toward heaven! — Who placed 
within 



26 THE SEARCH AETER GOD. 

A judge of all liis actions? — Who instructs 

Frail mortals to adjust the strife between 

Passion and duty by far other rules 

Than those which pleasure dictates? — Whence, too, 

is it 
That, for an unseen, spiritual good 
We cheerfully forego the joys of life? — 
Dust draws to dust, the spirit to the spirit — 
To Thee, Most Holy One, who through Thyself 
Kevealed art in Man. 

No more I seek Thee ; 
No more in dust I seek the living God ; 
Thy universe is my abiding place ; 
And thine Eternity — it is my time. 
Existence is but one eternity, 
Life but a step to everlasting bliss. 

O joy transcending every earthly joy ! 

O rapture inexpressible, to know 

My destin'd lot ! — Because God is, I am ! 

God lives for ever ! — therefore I shall live ! 

God dwells in bliss ! — bliss, therefore, shall be mine ! 

To Him be adoration, praise, and love ! 



THE SOUTH SEA ISLANDS. 27 



THE SOUTH SEA ISLANDS. 



A FKAGMEXT. 



Careering o'er the stormy deep, 
Whose mountain billows never sleep, 
Near bleak Fue^o's rock-bound shores, 
Where the eternal tempest roars ; 
When first the gallant seamen sped, 
Death's terrors o'er their track were spread, 
And land, and surge, and sky, seem'd blent 
In one unearthly element. 

Strain they every nerve, and now 
Northward turn their daring prow 
To milder cliines, where softer gales 
Gently impel their shatter'd sails 
To that vast Deep, whose waters roll 
From either India to the pole, 
O'er which perennial Summer smiles — 
Ocean of ten thousand isles ! 

Ah ! what fairy visions then 
Burst upon those toil-worn men : 
Lands of soft airs and sunny skies ; 
And fruits and flowers of beauteous dies ; 
And smiling dales, and wood-croAvn'd hills, 
All sparkling with transparent rills; 



28 THE SOUTH SEA ISLANDS. 

And graceful forms, with flowing hair, 
And arms and swelling bosoms bare, 
And dark eyes, flashing bright as gems 
In eastern monarchs' diadems; 
While wreaths of fragrant flowers embraced 
The polish'd brow and taper waist — 
Forms such as Fable placed of yore 
In Pleasure's bowers on Paphos' shore, 
Or glad the faithful Moslem's eyes 
In his kind Prophet's paradise. 

See, with voluptuous dance and song, 
These luscious forms their sports prolong 
Under the deep o'erarching shade 
By towering palms and toas made, 
And beneath these, with arms outspread, 
The tree which yields their daily bread. 

But, hark ! what shriek of agony 
Pierces the merry minstrelsy ! — 
The fatal stroke has just been sped 
On the yet writhing victim's head; 
And see with reeking brains and gore 
The flowery greensward sprinkled o'er ! — 
Why is the victim doomed to bleed? 
Dark Superstition prompts the deed. 
The Savage owns its potent sway; 
His gods, and, still more fierce than they, 
His priests, the sacrifice command, 
And scatter death throughout the land. 



THE SOUTH SEA ISLANDS. 29 

Another scream of wild despair, 
Of frantic anguish, fills the air ! — 
See yon young Mother, like the deer 
Bounding away when hounds are near; 
While closely to her panting breast 
The first-born of her love is prest ; 
But vain her fleetness, vain her fears, 
Her struggles vain, and vain her tears ; 
Vain her resistance to the last — 
The noose around its neck is cast — 
One gurgling cry, one quivering thrill, 
One frenzied shriek — and all is still ! 

Vain are the gifts which Nature pours 
With lavish hand on favoured shores; 
The Savage, with uncultur'd mind, 
Will play the tyrant with his kind, 
And, cruel, on his gods confer 
The self-same hideous character; 
Till e'en the Eden where he's placed 
He makes a blood-stained, howling waste. 



THE 



PATEIOT FATHEE; 



AN HISTOEICAL PLAY, 



IN FIVE ACTS. 



FREELY TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 



OF 



AUGUSTUS VON KOTZEBUE 



BY 



FEEDERIC SHOBERL, 



LONDON: 

PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION ONLY. 

1850. 



^ 



<>* 



$>* 



u 



PREFACE. 



When I first decided on printing the following Play, I had 
no intention of announcing either the name of the Author, or 
of acknowledging my own share in the performance. My 
motives for this meditated suppression originated partly in 
the invectives which have been so lavishly bestowed upon 
Kotzebue ; because the principal interest, in one or two of 
the Plays by which his talents as a dramatist are well known 
in this country, is excited in favour of characters who have 
been guilty of deviations from the paths of virtue and honour. 

This charge of painting Vice in amiable colours, chiefly 
founded on the Dramas above alluded to, and also advanced 
against Schiller's popular Play of The Robbers, has been ex- 
tended to all the dramatic writers of their nation ; so that it 
has become the fashion to condemn the whole German school 
as vicious and immoral. In this condemnation there is about 
as much liberality as if foreigners were to select certain 
indecent passages which occur in our own Shakespeare, or 
some of the loosest productions of Otway or Congreve, and 
on their account to brand the whole Drama of England with 
the character of licentiousness and obscenity. 

It was my wish that the reader should peruse The Patriot 
Father without any prejudice of this sort upon his mind, and 
form his judgment of it from its independent, intrinsic merits. 

A 2 



4 PREFACE. 

A second motive that seemed to render concealment desirable 
arose from the circumstances under which my task was 
executed. Undertaken, as it was, for amusement, and 
performed in brief intervals snatched from unremitting and 
laborious literary avocations, I am but too sensible of the 
imperfections of this translation, or rather adaptation : for I 
have not scrupled to omit, to add, or to alter, wherever the 
original seemed to be susceptible of improvement, or not 
congenial to English taste and feelings. 1 For this reason I 
should rather have wished my share in the work to remain 
unknown. 

One consideration, however, was powerful enough to in- 
duce me to forego this intention of concealment. I have 
seen how unmercifully this very Kotzebue has been plun- 
dered by dramatists, who have not hesitated to appropriate 
to themselves the credit to which he is entitled. The con- 
duct of these persons reminds me of the lines of the late Mr. 
Holcroft, in which he represents our immortal Shakespeare 
reclining in profound and peaceful slumber — 

While all his elves and fairies round him play'd, 
Voltaire approach'd — straight fled the frolic band — 
For Envy's breath such sprites may not endure ; 
He pilfer'd many a gem with trembling hand, 
Then stabb'd the Bard, to make the theft secure. 

Somewhat similar has been the treatment experienced by 

Kotzebue. 

With such examples before me, I was fearful lest, if my 

participation in this performance should become known, my 

1 These alterations extend to the title of the original, which is £>ie 
$nffitrn doc Sflmmifcutg— The Hussites before Naumburg. 



PREFACE. 5 

motives might be misconstrued, and I might be suspected, 
by persons to whom I am a stranger, of a design to defraud 
the original author of his due. To avoid such an imputation, 
and, if possible, to apply some corrective to the general 
notion of the immoral tendency of Kotzebue's plays, I cheer- 
fully make the distinct avowal, that whatever dramatic merit 
The Patriot Father shall be found to possess belongs to him ; 
but that I alone am responsible for the defects of style and 
language with which this translation may be disfigured. 

The event upon which the author has constructed his plot 
is supposed to have happened during those sanguinaiy hos- 
tilities which succeeded the treacherous sacrifice of Huss, 
one of the earliest of the German Reformers, whose country- 
men, the Bohemians, rose in arms to revenge his death, and 
laid waste without mercy the adjacent provinces. It is a 
singular fact that the appearance of this- Play produced a 
warm discussion among the literati of Germany, on the ques- 
tion, whether Naumburg had ever been really threatened by 
the Hussites, and delivered by the expedient here described, 
according to the received tradition, apparently confirmed by 
the customs practised at the festival called Kirschfest (Cherry- 
feast) still held there annually ; or whether the whole story 
was to be considered as a fiction. In the investigation of 
this subject by Mr. C. P. Lipsius, in a small tract 1 furnished 
me by the kindness of the late Mr. Bottiger, of Dresden, a 
gentleman equally distinguished for his talents as an ar- 
chaeologist and his patriotism as a Saxon, that writer has 

1 With the title: £ie 6agc Don ben §uffitent>ot SRaum&ucg, unb bet: Ucfptung 
bes 3flaumbut*9tidjen £wj$fefie&, 1> iftocifcf> = f titifc^ imtctfucfyt, Don €. <p. €t»ftu§, Naum- 
burg, 1810. 






6 PREFACE. 

brought forward strong grounds for inclining to the latter 
opinion. 

Leaving national writers to settle this disputed point, I 
shall merely subjoin one or two historical illustrations of that 
passage in the Second Act, in which one of the Senators 
enumerates liquid pitch and stones among the means of de- 
fending the city against its assailants. Before cannon came 
into general use, it was not uncommon to resort to such ex- 
pedients. Worb, in his History of Sagan, informs us that, in 
1428, when the Hussites menaced Gorlitz, the most vigorous 
measures for defence were immediately adopted, and that, 
among other precautions, fifteen brewing-coppers, placed round 
the town within the ramparts, were filled with eighty stone 
of melted pitch, for the purpose of being poured upon the 
enemy, if they should attempt to scale the walls. 

Of the means of annoyance employed at the same period, 
we find a curious elucidation in a contemporary historian of 
Bohemia, named Hayeck. In 1422, the strong fortress of 
Karlstein, about twenty miles from Prague, which adhered 
to the Emperor Sigismund, was invested by the Hussites, 
chiefly with a view to obtain possession of the royal regalia 
deposited there — a possession to which, in the notions of 
those times, almost the virtue of legitimacy was attached. 
" The Burgrave of Karlstein, however," says Hayeck, " se- 
cretly and expeditiously removed the crown to the Bavarian 
frontier town of Walhartitz, and calmly awaited the hostile 
force. The latter consisted of twenty-four thousand men, a 
number unprecedented in that age, who brought with them 
four heavy cannon, and forty -nine smaller pieces of artillery. 
The army encamped on the surrounding hills, and not only 



PREFACE. 7 

kept up a violent cannonade against the fortress, but hurled 
into it stones, putrid carrion, and matter still more offensive, 
which was brought from Prague in large barrels, and against 
the noxious effluvia of which the besieged had no other means 
of defending themselves than by the use of unslaked lime. 
About eighteen hundred barrels of such filth, and more than 
ten thousand nine hundred balls, were thrown into the fortress. 
The besieged, on their part, among other provocations, sus- 
pended by a cord from the principal tower a citizen of Prague, 
whom they had taken prisoner, placed in his hand a long 
staff, with a fox's tail fastened to it, and thus, to taunt the 
enemy, gave him the appearance of repelling their shot with 
a fly-flap. By their perseverance they at length exhausted 
the patience of the assailants, who retired without accom- 
plishing their purpose." 

Soliciting the reader's indulgence for this digression, I shall 
detain him no longer than to observe that, whatever may 
be thought of this attempt, I shall be satisfied if it facilitates 
to an abler hand the task of adapting for representation a Play, 
which seems to me, as well on account of the interest of the 
plot as the admirable moral sentiments that it breathes, to be 
well worthy of the notice of writers for the British Stage. 

F. S. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 



Frederic Wolf, an artisan 

The Burgomaster, 

First Senator, 

Second Senator, 

Third Senator, 

Gatekeeper, 

Doorkeeper, 

Fielding, 

Strangers. 

Procopius, General of the Hussites. 

Herald. 

First Officer. 

Second Officer. 

Third Officer. 

First Hussite. 

Second Hussite. 



> of Naumburgo 



Bertha, wife of Wolf. 
Women. 



Reapers ; Townspeople ; Children ; Hussites, &c. 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — TJie Market-place of Naumburg. In the 
background the Town-house, with a flight of steps in 
front. Time, sunrise. 

Enter a company of Reapers, male and female, with 
reaping -implements, baskets of provisions, tyc, who cross 
the Market-place in their way to work. 

CHOKUS. 
The sprightly lark proclaims the day, 
And calls us to the fields away, 
"Where the balmy breath of Morn 
Gently waves the bending corn. 

Now with sickle and with sithe 
Haste away each reaper blithe : 
For our homes we feel no care — 

("fathers ~] 
Have we not left our<| mothers I there? 

[sisters 

Towards the end of the song, Wole enters. He re- 
ceives and returns their friendly salutations, and listens 
to them with evident delight. As they pass him in going, 
some of them shake him heartily by the hand. The 
music gradually dies away. 

Wolf {alone). Yes, I do love the sounds of artless joy, 
Pour'd for the ample treasures Nature yields, 



10 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

When all the wide champaign a golden sea 
Of undulating ears, full-grained and low 
Depending toward the teeming earth, displays ; 
And to the grateful songs of busy reapers 
The glist'ning sickles are in concert plied. 

I love, too, this deep silence and repose, 
This solemn stillness which pervades the town, 
When nought is heard save the shrill cricket's chirp, 
Or the dull distant step ; when nought is seen, 
Save here and there the furrow' d face of Age, 
With spectacles on nose, from door or window 
Advanc'd with aspect wise to note the weather ; 
No playful children gambol in the streets : 
They too are gone to glean the straggling ears. 

But when the welcome tones of vesper-bell 
Summon at eve the sunburnt reaper home 
From fields his toil hath bar'd — ah ! then 'tis sweet 
To hear the jocund train with hearts elate 
Strike up the harvest-song ; the brimming bowl 
They raise alternate to their thirsty lips, 
And sportive mirth and glee reign uncontroll'd. 

[Exit 

Scene II. — The Outside of Wolfs House. 
Wolf enters, and meets Bertha at the door. 

Wolf. Stirring so soon? I left thee fast asleep. 

Ber. I had been here ere this, but, as thou know'st, 
Gustavus, little rogue, waits for thy rising, 
Comes creeping to me, nestles in my bosom, 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 11 

And with his winning tricks beguiles the time, 
Till Sleep again seals up his laughing ejes. 

Wolf. It is a glorious morning, and but now 
The jovial train of reapers pass'd our door, 
Singing, as they tripp'd merrily along, 
A sprightly tune. 

Ber. O yes, I heard it all. 

Wolf. And well may they rejoice. Hath not 
the bounty 
Of a kind Providence again bestow' d 
A rich reward for all the farmers' toils? 
The golden sea, as murmuring it waves 
I' th' morning breeze — ah ! 'tis a sight indeed 
To make the heart glad. 

Ber. Mine would leap for joy, 
Had we but fields to reap the produce of. 

Wolf. And so we have. Is not my shop my field, 
Where every day I gather in fresh crops, 
Reckless alike of seasons, storms, and weather ? 

Ber. 'Tis so indeed, my Frederic; but should sickness 
Again o'ertake thee, and arrest thy labour — 

Wolf. Why then all-gracious Heav'n would give 
my Bertha 
Benevolent neighbours. 

Ber. But if, which God forbid, I were to lose thee, 
What could I then do with eight starving orphans? 

Wolf Industrious habits and a name unstain'd 
I leave my boys, and who possesses these 
In Naumburg need not starve. If God doth clothe 
The lily of the field and feed the sparrow, 
Surely my Bertha should not doubt His care. 



12 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Ber. Nor do I, Frederic : still I can't but think 
That the possession of a field or two 
Would give more cheery prospects. 

Wolf. So, because 
Nor lands nor well-stor'd barns own me their 

master, 
Must I not bear a part i' th' general joy 
For this productive harvest ? Content, my Bertha, 
Is a most precious jewel — and I possess it. 
While bounteous Providence preserves thee to me, 
And the dear pledges of our mutual love, 
While it grants health and strength, a cheerful mind, 
A heart attun'd to others' joy and grief — 
What need I more to be supremely happy? 

Ber. 'Tis just thy way : whatever chance betide 
Thou mak'st a source of joy. 

Wolf. Ruffle not then 
That sweet content which never so o'erflow'd 
My grateful heart as at this very moment, 
When all conspires to wrap my soul in bliss : 
The fragrant and refreshing breeze of Morn — 
The reapers' jovial strains — my native town, 
In whose dear bosom cherish'd, me the hand 
Of Pow'r hath ne'er defrauded of the earnings 
Of patient Industry — my little cot 
And cheerful garden, where eight chubby boys 
Await their father to the gay repast — 
And, to crown all, that dearest gift of Heav'n, 
A wife, whose virtues and whose tenderness 
For fifteen years have been my daily solace ! 

[Clasps her in his arms. 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 13 

Ber. {drying her eyes). I know not how it is, but 
tears will ever ♦ 

Start in my eyes, to see thee look so pleas' d, 
To hear thee talk so kindly, dearest Frederic. 

Wolf. How well those tears become thee! On 
the day 
Which gave thy virgin beauties to these arms 
Thou didst not look more lovely ! 
\He presses her to his bosom. Hie alarm-bell is sud- 
denly heard."] 
Ha!— What's that? 

Ber. Th' alarm-bell, as I live ! 

Wolf {looking round). Some fire, no doubt, 
Is raging in the town. 

Ber. {looking anxiously about). lean see nothing of it. 

Wolf {going to a little distance). It is no common 
accident — else why 
So loud ? why so impetuous ? 

Ber. Oh ! Frederic, don't leave me thus ! 

Wolf Bertha, where are the children? 

Ber. They're safe within. 

Wolf Then go thou to them, dear, 
And send them quickly out to play i' th' meadow, 
While thou and I run to assist our neighbours. 

Ber. Let me first look to our own — 

Wolf We 've not much 
To lose — my tools are speedily remov'd. 

[Looking towards the bell-tower. ,] 
Ring on, ring on, as thou would'st wake the dead ! 
And yet I see no fire. 

Ber. What can this mean? 



14 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Wolf. Stop, here comes neighbour Fielding, pale 
and breathless. 

Fielding enters, and hastily crosses the stage. 

Why this alarm, good Master Fielding, say? 

Field, (out of breath). The foe — is at our gates! 

Wolf. The foe! what foe? 

Field. The Hussites, Wolf! [Exit. 

Wolf (much agitated). Pray Heav'n it be not so! 

Ber. (in great alarm). Oh God, have mercy! if it 
be the Hussites, 
'Tis over with us ! 

Wolf ( assuming a composed air). Let us not give way, 
Dear Bertha, to unreasonable fears. 
Fielding is credulous, and I must confess 
The more I think the more improbable 
The story seems to me. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. — The Market-place. 

A troop of Reapers rush upon the stage. The ter- 
rified townspeople assemble from all quarters. Wolf 
enters. 

Reapers. Woe to us all ! 

Wolf. What mean ye? 

Reaper. At our gates 
The Hussites are arriv'd. 

Wolf. How can this be ? 
Is not our brave Elector with his army 
Posted at Leipzig, to obstruct the march 
Of these marauders ? 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 15 

Reaper. Sha'n't we trust our eyes ? 
The hills are cover'd with their arm'd battalions, 
And flight alone can save us from their vengeance ! 

The Burgomaster enters, attended by several Senators. 

Burg. Whither away, my friends? what means 
this tumult, 
This strange confusion? Am I yet in Naumburg? 
Are these my fellow-townsmen, who were wont 
To meet all dangers cool and unappall'd ? 

Reapers. The Hussites, sir ! the Hussites ! 

Burg. Let your fears 
Not gain the ascendant of your better judgment : 
Ye know that the Elector hath assembled 
A gallant army on the plains of Leipzig, 
Five thousand horse and thrice five thousand foot; 
That Margrave Frederic of Brandenburg, 
Duke William too, and Magdeburg's archbishop, 
Have joined him with their troops — what then 

have we 
To fear with such a force? 

Reaper. Alas ! these eyes 
Have seen — 

Burg. What have they seen? 

Reaper. The standards of the Hussites on the hills, 
Their glitt'ring helmets, and a forest wide 
Of lances — 

Burg. But, friend, why mayn't these be Saxons? 
Perhaps th' Elector? If it should be so, 
What shame it were to Naumburg to be found 
So pusillanimous. Then, courage, townsmen ! 



If) THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

I've sent out messengers to learn the truth 
Of this report: till their return be tranquil. 

Enter several Reapers, with two Strangers. 

Reaper. Your honour would not credit our sad tale : 
Now hear the testimony of these men. 

Burg. Whence come ye, friends? 

Stranger. From Gleina, near to Zeitz. 

Burg. What know ye ? — speak ! 

Stranger. Th' Elector is defeated, and his army 
Dispers'd in flight. Like to the ocean- waves, 
The Hussite force, full sixty thousand strong, 
Pour'd o'er the mountains — villages, laid waste, 
And smoking hamlets, mark'd its dread career. 
At length, at Altenburg, the Saxons met 
Th' invading foe, but there, o'erwhelm'd by numbers, 
The bloody field their carcasses bestrew'd. 
The fury of the victors knew no bounds : 
The barns, stored with the produce of the year, 
The mansions, cottages, and sacred temples, 
Alike were wrapp'd in all-devouring flames, 
Nor sex, nor age, nor rank, the hell-hounds spar'd. 
Such were the scenes that track' d their progress 

hither, 
And now the storm is gather'd o'er your heads. 
These eyes beheld promiscuous ruin burst 
Over our churches, farms, and peaceful cots, 
Our innocent infants bleed beneath the knife 
Of sacrilegious butchers, and ourselves 
Have scarce escap'd with life to bring the tidings. 

The People. Woe to us ! woe ! 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 17 

Burg, Shame on these cries! Straight send the 
women home ! 
I would consult with men ! 

\_TJie sound of a distant trumpet is heard. 
What can this mean? 

First Sen. Be not afraid : the gates are all secur'd ! 
Burg. Beshrew me, friend : thou might' st well spare 
such comfort : 
'Tis conscience that makes cowards! Is it gates, 
Or walls of adamant, can give the sense 
Of safety to the villain? — while the man, 
Whose heart attests his duty well perform'd, 
Fears but his God, and knows no fear besides. 

Gatekeeper enters. 

Gatekeeper. A Herald at the gate demands admit- 
tance. 

Burg. Conduct him hither — Fellow-citizens, 
Listen with calmness to this messenger; 
Let not unmanly terrors or defiance 
Be printed on your brows : tranquil and grave, 
And silent as your walls, attend his errand, 
And let your magistrates, if need be, answer. 

The Herald enters. 

Be welcome here : if thou'rt a messenger 
Of peace, we bid thee welcome. 

Her. Not peace, but curses, have I to denounce 
Against your city. Men of Naumburg, hear ! 
Procopius, the Bohemian prince, my master, 
Through me informs you why Almighty vengeance 

B 



18 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

This day pours out its chastisements upon you : 
Collect ye then around me, list, and tremble. 

Burg. We tremble not ev'n 'fore His pow'r who made us. 
For He is merciful. — But, to thy business. 

Her. YeVe heard how late there hVd at Prague a man 
Naru'd Huss, endued with wisdom to detect 
The craft of Eomish priests, and separate 
Their idle legends from the word divine, 
Which fearlessly he taught : the Roman pontiff 
For this declar'd him excommunicate. 
The Fathers of the Church, at Constance met, 
Summon'd him thither to defend his doctrine 
Before their council — cheerful he obey'd, 
Nor aught solicited but a safeconduct 
From Emperor Sigismund. {Raising his voice.) Now 

mark me well, 
Ye men of Naumburg ! Emperor Sigismund 
Gave such safeconduct to the pious Huss — 
To Constance he repair' d, but, in despite 
Of the Imperial pledge, loaded with chains, 
Consign'd to loathsome dungeons, long he languish'd, 
Till at the stake at last his righteous spirit 
The martyr yielded up. — We, his disciples, 
Have sworn us to avenge our master's murder 
With fire and sword— such is the vow we've ta'en. 

Know too, ye men of Naumburg, that your Bishop 
'Mongst the most furious of those foes was found 
Whose voice at Constance gave him to the flames. 
Woe, then, upon your town, and threefold woe 
Upon yourselves ! — for thus the great Procopius, 
Our Gen'ral, saith : — " Thou, Naumburg, for the sake 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 19 

Of this participation of thy prelate, 

Shalt from the earth be swept, and not one stone 

Be left upon another ; that the spot 

Where dwelt the sanguinary mitred bigot 

May be mark'd only by the rank luxuriance 

Of nettles, thorns, and briars." Yet farther hear! 

" Whatever lives or breathes within these walls, 

Or male or female, age and infancy, 

The sword of vengeance shall exterminate. 

This very day the sun shall set in blood.' 7 

I've done — prepare to die ! 

Burg. Herald, thou seest 
How on the faces of my townsmen round thee 
Pale horror sits, while shudd'ring at a deed 
In which they had no part : but me, that death, 
So awfully denounc'd, surprises not — 
We have been long familiar — therefore I 
First find my speech to answer. Say, is't just 
That the son suffer for the parents' guilt? 
What crime have we committed ? — full ten years 
The Bishop's body moulders in the tomb. 

Her. As, then, we cannot call him to a reck'ning, 
We wreak our hate on you. 

Burg. On harmless citizens, 
Whose ears the name of Huss hath scarcely reach'd ? 
Who, though adhering to our fathers' creed, 
Condemn no doctrine, persecute no faith, 
Desiring but that peace we leave to others? 

Her. All farther words were vain. Our Gen'ral's 
sentence 
Irrevocable cries — Death and Destruction ! 

b2 



20 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Burg. Well it beseems the brave to practise mercy, 
To spare a peaceful people, who with joy 
Will, from the produce of their fields and flocks, 
Amply supply your camp. 

Her. All that we need 
Our swords procure. 

Burg. The treasures of our churches, 
Whate'er of gold or silver our poor town 
Contains, shall be deliver'd faithfully. 
Myself will give th' example. 

[Drawing a ring from his finger. 
Take this jewel — 

It is of value — but to me most dear, 
As the memorial of a parent's love : 
Take it in pledge of our sincerity. 
[Several of the women hastily take off their necklaces, fyc. 

One of the Women. Accept the willing sacrifice 
we offer. 

Her. 'Tis vain ! — 'tis blood we ask ! 

Burg, (after some pause). At least, permit 
One of our number to attend you back 
To the Bohemian camp : perchance his pray'rs 
May touch your leader's heart. 

Her. I'll be no hindrance, 
Should one be found so bold. 

Burg. Myself will go. 

Her. Consider well, old man — 

Burg. Myself! 

Her. I will not answer for your safety ; 
Your blood might flow the first. 

Burg. Let it ! 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 21 

Wolf {advancing). No, never 
Shall such a precious life incur the risk ! 
If one the first in dignity of mind, 
As first in office, leave the city now, 
The common weal might suffer. God be prais'd, 
There's not a man in Nauniburg but with joy 
Would in his stead accept the glorious mission ! 
And, as kind fortune will'd that I the first 
Should raise my voice, to me belongs the priv'lege — 
I'll to the camp ! 

Ber. {in great agitation). Wolf, art thou mad? 

Wolf. Cease, Bertha ! — 
Worshipful sir, a sweet presentiment 
Lightens my heart, and a resistless impulse 
Urges me to the trial. Gifted only 
With Nature's simple eloquence, yet oft 
Have my words fallen with persuasive force ; 
Trust therefore to — 

Ber. {in horror). Bethink thee of thy wife! 

Wolf, I must not now. 

Her. The fool ! he will repent it ! 

Ber. {with anguish). Think of thy children, Wolf! 

Wolf And do I not? 
What heritage more precious can a father 
Bequeath his children than the fame of virtue ? 
Gold is soon spent — it passes to the stranger — 
A father's virtue is to them an heirloom — 
A spark that in the bosoms of their offspring 
Kindles the genial glow of gen'rous pride, 
Which o'er all sordid passions lifts them high, 
And stimulates to deeds of deathless glory. 



22 THE PATKIOT FATHER. 

Then let me go — no second lucky chance 
Might give me such a fortune for my sons. 
Burg. Your noble actions, fellow-citizens, 
Have ever been my pride — therefore with joy 
I heard the offer of our worthy townsman. 
Go ! patriot, go ! and may the Almighty's blessing 
Attend thy steps, and speed thy safe return ! 
Her. He'll ne'er return ! 
Ber. (wringing her hands). Eight orphans, Wolf, 

eight orphans ! 
Wolf (pointing to the Burgomaster). Here is their 
father, Bertha. — Should my death 
Avert destruction from my native town, 
Then are they no more Wolf's but Naumburg's 

children ; 
Or, should my life be sacrificed in vain, 
I shall at least be spar'd the bloody scene 
The setting sun shall witness. ( To the Herald. ) Come, 
I'm ready. 
Ber. Hast thou no farewell for a tender wife? 
Wolf. Farewell! be firm and weep not: now thou se est 
How high I'd soar, draw me not down again ! 

Ber. No blessing for thy boys, before thou leav'st 
them, 
Perhaps for ever? 

Wolf. Cease, Bertha, cease 
Thus to unman me — deeds, not words, bring blessing. 

\Ewit hastily with the Herald. 
Ber. (running after him). Stay, husband, stay! 
Burg, (after an interval of silence) . Ye stand aghast, 
my friends, your bosoms heave 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 23 

With sighs of mute despair but half repress'd. 
Shake this despondence off ! consider well, 
That nothing can avert the threaten' d ruin 
But fortitude and courage ! Above all, 
Humble yourselves devoutly 'fore that Being 
Who for long ages hath been gracious to you, 
Without whose leave no animated atom, 
Nor ev'n the meanest flow'r, sinks into dust. 
( To the Senators.) Let us now proceed 
Whither our duty calls us, to concert 
What at our hands the public weal requires. 

[ While the Senators, with the Burgomaster at their 
head, slowly ascend the steps before the Town-house, the 
people fall on their hnees.~] 

CHORUS. 

Jehovah ! at whose nod 

Obedient lightnings to the skies return ; 

Who, when the world of waters bursts its bounds, 

Sendest thy storms to check its wasteful course ; 

In our distress, O hear our fervent pray'r, 

Abandon not thy people to despair ! 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — The Council- chamber in the Town-hall : 
in the middle of it a table, at which the Burgomaster 
and Senators are seated. The First Senator stands 
before an open window, out of which he is intently 
looking. 

First Sen. Heav'ns ! what a concourse at St. James's gate 
Of anxious burghers pouring from their homes ! 






24 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 



And ev'ry moment how the crowd augments ! 

The street is filled with one vast moving mass — 

Now they begin like ocean-waves to roll 

Back tow'rd the Market-place. — Ha ! is not that 

Our Wolf, who 'mid the thickest of the throng 

Bends hitherward his steps ? — It is ! — 'tis he ! 

But what a settled gloom upon his brow, 

As, silently advancing 'mong his neighbours, 

He points significantly to our Hall ! 

He comes! — he comes! — but oh! the citizens, 

Wringing their hands, interpret but too plainly 

The meaning of his silence. [He returns to his seat. 

Bertha rushes into the Hall. 

Ber. He lives ! — he is return'd ! 

Burg. What tidings brings he? 

Ber. What care I, so I know my husband lives ! 

Burg. Woman, retire! Know, too, this solemn 
place 
Is to the public weal devote. No ear 
Thou here canst find for private joy and grief. 

[Bertha timidly retires. TJie people enter and ad- 
vance, disregarding the bar. At length Wolf appears. 

The People. He's come, but he says nothing ! 

Burg. Back, my friends, 
Nor violate our ancient regulations : 
In time of trouble, as in days of peace, 
The law must exercise its wholesome rule. 

[TJie citizens respectfully retire beyond the bar. 
Let Wolf alone advance. [Wolf co??ies forward.] Say, 
what have we to hope ? 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 25 

Wolf (in a low tone). Were it not well these wit- 
nesses retir'd? 
Burg. Come what come will, together we'll endure it ! 
The forest, where the huge oak's brawny arms 
Defend its weaker neighbours, better braves 
The tempest's fury than the single pine 
That crowns the mountain's crest. Concealment now 
Availeth nought : — speak, Wolf, without reserve. 

Wolf. Know then, most honour'd sirs, that with 
the Herald 
Scarce had I scal'd the heights, when suddenly 
The Hussite camp appear'd outstretch' d before me. 
Like fretful waves impatient of restraint, 
Their dusky legions gird the mountain's base ; 
But their chief force upon the southern hill 
Is posted — and ten thousand busy hands 
Labour with works of art to fortify 
The steep ascent, already strong by nature. 
There, a white tent, crown' d with a blood-red dome, 
Rears high its haughty head above the rest; 
O'er it the standard of the ruthless foe — 
A golden goblet in an argent field — 
Flouts the air proudly. The Bohemian General 
Here keeps his martial state. Through the long files 
Of taunting guards, all men of hideous aspect, 
With cheeks embrown'd, and grisly, matted beards, 
Distain'd by blood and dust, was I conducted 
Into their leader's presence. — 

" Why, wretch foolhardy," — thus began Procopius — 
" What urges thee first of thy race to brave 
The jaws of death?" Nothing dismay'd, I said, 



26 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

« We're both alike i' th' hand of the same God, 

Be He the judge between a lowly man, 

Impelled by something here — (laying his hand on his 

heart) t' incur such risk, 
And thee, the mighty ruler of this host." 

Burg. How stomach'd he that answer? 
Wolf. Long he eyed me 
With look inquisitive from head to foot; 
At last he sternly cried, " Stranger, proceed!" 
O'erjoy'd t' obtain a hearing, I obey'd; 
Spoke of our Bishop, who, a foreigner, 
Had not imbib'd his persecuting spirit 
Within our walls, and whom eternal justice 
Had long since summon' d to a strict account 
For his misdeeds. — 
Next I adverted to our peaceful town ; 
Show'd how, contented with the humble fare 
Of honest industry, we take no heed 
Of what befalls beyond our native hills ; 
Dwelt on our poverty, yet represented 
How cheerfully our little all we'd give 
To ransom our bare lives. — " I love thy bluntness," 
Replied Procopius; "in such wise as this 
None ever yet had courage to address me. 
Thou'rt safe — stay here — hence thou at night may'st 

view 
The curling flames enwrap your guilty town." 

" Nay, General," so I answer'd, " if thy heart 
Remain obdurate still, the only boon 
I fain would beg is — death — in mercy grant it ! 
Then my closed eyes shall not behold the struggles 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 27 

Of my expiring infants, nor my ears 

Be harrow' d with the death-groans of their mother.' 7 

" A vaunt !" he cried, flush' d with infuriate rage ; 
" Begone, presumptuous fool ! return, and tell 
Thy dastard townsmen that in vain they strive 
To wheedle me. — Ere yet the sun shall sink 
Behind yon hills, our fierce revenge we'll glut : 
The crackling flames shall dye the vault of heav'n, 
And not a wretch of your perfidious crew 
Shall greet the morning's dawn. As for thyself, 
Stir not again beyond the city walls, 
Or fingering torments, pangs yet undevis'd, 
By cruelty ingenious, here await thee !" 

Seized, rudely dragg'd away, thrust from the camp, 
My homeward steps the soldiers' taunts pursued. 

Burg. Thou hast redeem'd thy word: accept 
our thanks. — 
Good citizens, retire, that we once more 
In quiet may consult : but for the worst 
Be ye prepar'd, and make your peace with Heav'n ; 
Resign yourselves to its severe behests, 
Nor think ye of resistance. 

First Sen. Heav'n and hell ! 
What ! on our bosoms shall we fold our hands, 
And gape for miracles ? — No — no — to arms ! 
Now ev'ry hope is vanish'd, show ye're men ! 
The resolution of despair gives strength, 
And oft works prodigies. Let us not heed 
The coward counsels doting Age suggests, 
Whose snows each spark of courage have extinguish'd. 
Haste to the ramparts, then, brave men of Naumburg, 



28 THE PATEIOT FATHER. 

Prepare for battle — not for paltry plunder — 
'Tis for our homes and families we fight! 
That Pow'r who nerv'd a stripling's arm and heart 
To meet a giant's force still lives. Though fiends 
Num'rous as ocean sands beset you round, 
His hand can hurl destruction on their ranks, 
And blast their purposes. Away ! Away ! 
Quick, carry fuel to the city walls, 
Prepare your cauldrons, and of liquid pitch 
Pour fiery torrents on th' audacious foe ; 
And let your wives and children straight collect 
Large store of stones to launch upon their heads. 
Snatch up what arms ye find — clubs — battle-axes — 
Nay, let the pitchfork, sickle, flail, and sithe, 
Be, in your vigorous hands, death-dealing tools ! 
Now to the ramparts ! — Should your spirits flag, 
Think that your fathers, mothers, children, wives, 
Your sweethearts, home and country, life itself, 
Are the dear stake ye fight for ! 

All the People (rushing out). To arms! To arms! 
To arms ! 

[Wole follows in silence, but stops when he has passed 
the bar ; one moment apparently sharing the general 
enthusiasm, and the next absorbed in profound thought. 

Burg, (after a pause). What boots it that with un- 
substantial hopes 
We now delude the people? — O'er our heads 
Heavy and black Heaven's awful judgments gather; 
And, from the murky bosom of the cloud, 
That lowers big with death, too soon will burst 
The fatal bolt to crush us ! 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 29 

Several Sen. Alas ! alas ! 'tis true ! 

Burg. The people have retir'd, and now I dare 
Acknowledge the despondence which pervades 
My inmost soul. Bow ? d with the weight of years, 
Bereft — so Fate decreed — of wife and children, 
I love my townsfolk as my family : 
In their prosperity my happiness 
Is center'd; and the last remains of strength 
I've cheerfully exerted in the office, 
Which by their partial gift I hold. Yet now 
These aged eyes, alas ! are doom'd to witness 
The ruin of the fabric rear'd of yore 
By our forefathers, which through various chances 
Hath nourish'd still, and which I fondly hop'd 
Might pass uninjur'd to posterity. 
O happy they who in the quiet grave 
Sleep the sound sleep of death! — they have been 

spar'd 
This hard probation ; while, in anger, Heav'n 
Prolongs my wretched life ! 

First Sen. O chicken-hearted counsellors ! if we 
Give up ourselves to the impetuous stream, 
As did our timid neighbours, we perforce 
Must be like them engulph'd. Who boldly buffets 
The stormy surge retains some chance of life. 
The worm is trampled on — not so the bee — 
The strongest shun its little venom'd shaft; 
And thus the firmness of th' infirm themselves 
Oft gains respect from might. Take courage, then ; 
We've solid walls, a broad deep ditch, strong tow'rs, 
And an Almighty shield ! 



30 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Burg. Hath He wrought wonders 
To save our neighbours? Are we more deserving? 

First Sen. Their want of spirit was the pregnant 
cause 
Of their perdition. 

Burg. Foolhardy daring is not courage, sir ; 
None but a maniac with his fists would strive 
To quell the fury of the hurricane. 
Four thousand men-at-arms our town contains — 
No more — now say how we with these can guard 
Th' extensive circuit of our walls and towers, 
And duly man the various weaker points. 
Full forty thousand 'gainst us are encamp'd 
Upon the hills, with engines well provided 
To force a ready entrance. — For relief, 
That well ye know 'twere folly to expect, 
Th' Elector beaten and his force dispers'd, 
Himself shut up in Leipzig with the relics ! 
What can we hope, then, from resistance? He 
Who sendeth fearful storms to fertilize 
The droughty earth, and by His lightnings gives 
To the dull air new elasticity — 
He, He alone, can change our foes' intent. 

Second Sen. Too true ! indeed ! too true ! 

First Sen. Would ye then have us, 
Patient as lambs, present our naked throats, 
And lick the hand that wields the murd'rous blade? 

Burg. On us it is incumbent, 
As fathers of the city, to protect 
The precious charge committed to our care, 
At ev'ry cost, and ev'n of life itself. 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 31 

If tlien poor Nauniburg's final hour be come, 

Duty commands that to the fatal axe 

We first resign our necks. Let us go forth, 

Clad in our robes of office. I will lead you. 

Our supplications shall obtain our peace, 

Or these gray locks be crimson'd with my blood. 

First Sen. Now speak'st thou like a man — well 
follow thee. 
[Wolf meanwhile whispers to the Doorkeeper. 

Doorkeeper {advancing). Worshipful gentlemen, our 
townsman, Wolf, 
Desires once more admission to your presence, 
Haying some weighty matter to propose. 

Burg. Give him admittance. 

Wolf. Forgive me, sirs, if a plain man presume 
In this extremity his mite to offer : 
Good counsel may spring from the humblest source ; 
A rugged shell oft holds the fairest pearl ; 
And virgin gold in common sand lies hid. 

Burg. What hast thou to propose? 

Wolf. In this necessity, 'twere fit we risk 
What's dearest to us for the public weal. 

First Sen. Our lives ! 

Wolf. No — what is dearer far — our children. 

Burg. Explain thy meaning. 

Wolf. Ye would go forth yourselves — a resolution 
Which well befits the fathers of the State : 
But, ah ! bethink you, when the shepherd's gone, 
The flock is left defenceless — whilst your blood 
Would only quench our last faint spark of hope. 
The citizens, dishearten'd by your loss, 



32 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Would not know how to act, or whom t' obey : 
'Twere not judicious, then, to leave the town. 

Burg. Say, what is thy advice ? — the time is precious. 

Wolf. Let us collect our children, boys and girls, 
From five to fourteen years of age, and send them, 
Clad in white garments, to the Hussite camp : 
Let them march two and two, the youngest first, 
Surround the General's tent — which easily 
May be distinguish' d by the floating standard — 
Fall on their knees, and raise their folded hands, 
Cry, Mercy ! Mercy ! nor desist till they 
Have won that boon from the relenting foe. 

Burg. How if his thirst of blood demand their 
slaughter? 

Wolf. Then let them render up their guiltless 
lives 
To Him who gave them ! — But woe to the Hussites ! 
Then will the father feel a lion's rage, 
Then ev'ry mother will become a tigress : 
Together we will leave the dreary town, 
Which childish prattle ceases to enliven, 
And seek the spot dyed with our infants' gore — 
There each will rise a hero — nay, a god — 
And in each mother's hand the peaceful reaphook 
Gleam an avenging sword ! 

Second Sen. Against a host like sand upon the 
shore, 
The conflict would be vain. 

Wolf. Ev'n were it so, bereft of that which gives 
Its highest zest to life, how could we wish 
Still to preserve it? 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 33 

First Sen. For me, I can't approve his counsel. 

Second Sen. Our Chief approves it — but he has no 
children — 
To him it is an easy sacrifice ; 

Two darling boys like mine would work some change 
In his opinion. 

First Sen. I have but one child, 
The comfort of my life. 

Third Sen. I've three, and yet 
Each is as dear as though the only one. 

Wolf. Forgive a smile that will not be repress'd. — 
Who is the richest here? — who can, like me, 
Summon eight hearty boys around his board? 
And yet, believe me, if one single place 
Out of the eight were at my table vacant — 
Had I one portion less to deal, though earn'd 
With toil severe, my well-known gaiety 
Were fled — for ever fled ! True, I am happy, 
And, as the richest parent in your town, 
Have I not cause to be, when eightfold joy 
Beams from the blooming faces of my offspring? 

\He steps to the door. 
Ho ! hither, children ! — Sirs, with your good leave ! 

Wolf's eight boys enter and surround him. 

See, here they are ! upon their glowing cheeks 
Rude health is pictur'd. Judge ye for yourselves 
How happy such a sight must make a father ! — 
Their hearts are sound, too. Come now, tell me, 

urchins, 
Which of you loves me best? 

c 



34 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

All the Children {clinging round him). II 

Wolf. I told you so : 
I am the richest — yes, 'fore God ! — the richest ! 
Still I say : — Take them ! 'tis the State demands 
The painful gift — take them ! ay, take my all ! 

Second Sen. (rising). I give my children, too. 

First Sen. (rising). I'll not be worse than Wolf; 
my boy shall go. 

Third Sen. prising). So shall my three. 

Fourth Sen. (rising). 'Tis fitting our example 
Dispose our fellow-townsmen. 

[They all rise. 

Burg. O noble Wolf, receive our grateful thanks : 
If, in this dire necessity, thy counsel 
Procure relief, expect a rich reward. 

Wolf. If ye're deliver'd, and if these return 
Unhurt, what greater, sweeter recompence 
Can I desire? The very thought is bliss, 
To which all earthly riches are but trash ; 
And, when anticipation hath such joys, 
What must be those, if Providence should prosper 
Our enterprise, that will be his who plann'd it ! 

[Exit with the children. 

Burg. Well may a State exult whose ranks 
contain 
Such patriot citizens ! and we, 'fore Heav'n ! 
May deem us happy, ruling such a town. — 
Colleagues, let us away, if not to share 
The glory of the act, at least the care ! 

[Exeunt. 



ai 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 35 

ACT III. 

Scene I. — The Outside of Wolfs House. 

Bertha comes out of the house, and looks anxiously 
'ound. 



Ber. Methought I heard the sound of lamentation 
From distant female voices, intermix' d 
With harsher tones of men. — Again all's still ! 
How ev'ry noise alarms me ! — if a door 
But shuts, or window rattles, how I start, 
As though the final, dreadful hour were come ! 
Frederic, where art thou? — Here I am alone — 
Our neighbours' houses empty — not a soul, 
Not one, is left — it used not to be thus ! 
None but the happy ought to flee mankind, 
For solitude is like the night, whose shades 
Give double brilliance to the friendly stars, 
But double horrors to the lightning's glare. 

Wolf enters. 

Art come at last, my husband? Oh, remove 
The load of anxious care that racks my heart ! 

Wolf. Courage, dear Bertha, courage ! 

Ber. I heard confused murmurs — tell me, Wolf, 
What they denote? 

Wolf. A patriot citizen 
Proposed a last expedient. 

Ber. Say, what was it? 

Wolf. As it were vain to hope relief from force, 

c 2 



36 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

The man advis'd that we should try th' effect 
Of feeble innocence, and send the children — 

Ber. {in great alarm). Children! — what children? 

Wolf. All of a proper age 
Belonging to our town — 

Ber. {with increased alarm). And ours too? 

Wolf. Certainly; when others give 
Their bosoms' darlings, could ours be refus'd? 

Ber. All, say'st thou? 

Wolf. Yes, all of a certain age. 

Ber. Sure I've misunderstood ! — Would ye send out 
Our children to the Hussites? 

Wolf. Even so. 

Ber. {in extreme agitation). Send them to certain 
death ? 

Wolf. Forbid it, Heav'n! 
'Tis hop'd their artless innocence will touch 
The barbarous invaders. 

Ber. {after a pause). A proposal ! — 
Said'st thou not so? 

Wolf. I did. 

Ber. Indeed a shrewd one ! 

Wolf. O how it glads me, Bertha, that so nobly 
Thou keep' st the public interest in view ! 

Ber. Why should I not? — though much I apprehend 
Few of our burghers would — indeed the noise 
I heard but now suffices to convince me 
The well-meant plan has been rejected by them. 

Wolf no ! they hasten, on the contrary, 
To execute it. 

Ber. What! already! 



THE PATKIOT EATHER. 37 

Wolf. Yes: 
Our state admits not of delay. 

Ber. The Burgomaster — doth he approve it? 

Wolf. Certainly. 

Ber. He has no children — but the Senators? 

Wolf. Theirs are all going. 

Ber. Are they so, indeed? 
And how behave the mothers? what say they? 

Wolf Hear, and take comfort in thine own distress, 
From the keen pangs that rack their tender breasts. 
No sooner was th' approval of the Senate 
Made public, than, with consternation fill'd, 
Our matrons throng'd the streets : some on their knees 
Embrac'd their infants with convulsive throes ; 
Some sought their little ones lost in the crowd; 
Some wearied Heav'n with agonizing prayers ; 
While some scream'd forth the curses of despair. 
In vain their husbands by caresses strove 
To pacify their rage. The meekest now 
Became a fury. Breaking from the arms 
Of spouses, fathers, brothers, quick they hied 
To seek the magistrates. In vain their Chief 
Essay'd to appease them : reckless of his office, 
His worth and reverend age, they fell upon him, 
And would have torn him piecemeal, had not we, 
After fierce conflict, freed him from their gripe. 
The fitful fever of despair being past, 
Nature resum'd her rights — from ev'ry eye 
A torrent burst — as when a sulph'rous cloud — 
Its fiery freight disgorg'd — refreshing show'rs 
Sheds o'er the parched plains. Mild Reason pour'd 



38 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Her soothing balm upon their wounded hearts, 
And bade them hope. Submissive to our fate, 
With silent tears, they led their children home, 
To speed them for the camp. 

Ber. (who has listened to his narrative with the most 
'painful sympathy). So soon? to-day? 

Wolf. Anon the drum will summon them together 
Here in the Market-place. — Sooner, I ween, 
Their mothers had to stern necessity 
Resign' d themselves, had but my dearest love, 
My noble, patriot wife, highminded Bertha, 
Appear'd among them as a bright exemplar ; 
For oft the tranquil greatness of one spirit 
Can awe the jarring passions into peace. 

Ber. Seek'st thou with empty praise to tranquillize 
This bursting heart? No more on't, if thou lov'st 

me! 
I'm neither man nor angel, but — a mother ! 
I, too, can only execrate the fiend, 
Who this infernal project hath devis'd. 
He is no father — no — a father's joys 
He never knew — nor in his arms hath press'd 
A loving wife — nor dandled on his knee 
A darling babe ! Name me the monster, Wolf, 
That I may curse him ! 

Wolf. Behold him here ! 

Ber. (recoiling with horror). Thou, Wolf ! 

Wolf. Yes, I. 

Ber. Thou — father — thou ? 

Wolf. Condemn me not, my love : — 
In such a crisis, when our very lives 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 39 

Are not our own, tell me, can there be aught 
Too precious for a citizen to venture? 
Or doth not duty bid him risk his all? 

Ber. The citizen I grant thee — but the father f 

Wolf. He sends his children thither where alone 
Deliv'rance can be sought — 

Ber. Into the talons 
Of rav'nous vultures ! 

Wolf. And where Hope suggests 
That their defenceless innocence and pray'rs 
May ope the savage warriors' steeled hearts. 

Ber. But the effect had surely been the same 
Here in the midst of us ! 

Wolf. A tear may quench a spark, but not ex- 
tinguish 
The raging flame. When resting from the turmoil 
Of arms, the soldier melts at the distress 
Of helpless infancy — but, in th' assault, 
Urg'd by resistance, to revenge provok'd 
By thickening dangers, he forgets the man, 
And cleaves, transfixes, dashes out the brains 
Of little wretches shrieking for his mercy. 

Ber. I must believe 'tis right — a woman's duty — 
So we are taught, at least — is to submit. 
I'll strive, then, to admire what wrings my heart. — 
Send out the children ! I'm content ! — Yet all — 
Must all go ? 

Wolf. Who can arrogate the right 
To make exceptions? 

Ber. Who reserves but one 
In eight, may still, methinks, with justice boast 



40 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

A sacrifice sufficient for his country. 

Wolf. But less than his, who, having only one, 
Gives up that one. 

Ber. Drive me not, with thy chilling arguments, 
To desperation, Wolf ! Have I eight times 
Endur'd a mother's pangs to die alone f 
Who then will close these tear-exhausted eyes? 
Who drop the dew of sorrow on my grave? 
Oh ! burst my heart at once, and then 'tis o'er ! 
My heart, to which maternal love is needful, 
As is the air thou breathest to thy life. 
In mercy, O my husband ! leave me one — 
One of my boys, to inherit undivided 
That tenderness which all of them have shar'd ! 

Wolf. Bertha! 

Ber. One out of eight will not be miss'd ! — 
I'll hide him — never fear ! 

Wolf. Could' st thou but see 
The daggers which thou plantest in my breast ! 

Ber. Will it not be a solace to thine age, 
When this unnatural fev'rish force hath left thee, 
To be a father still — to see thy boy, 
Preserved by my tears, smile in thy face? 
Oh ! then thou'lt thank me with thy warmest love, 
For all the pains this day inflicted by me : 

[Falling on her knees. 
Thou'lt not deny me ! — one is all I ask ! 
[Overcome with the violence of her emotion, she sinks 
upon the stage, .] 
Wolf {raising her). Bertha! — my dearest Bertha, 
be it so ! 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 41 

Ber. {ardently embracing him). Oh thanks, thanks, 
thanks, for one child's life at least, 
Begg'd of his father ! — 

Wolf (feigni7ig consent). Let us now consider 
With which of them we can the best dispense, 
And which we shall retain. 

Ber. (anxiously). Yes, what think you? 

Wolf. Let Conrad go — the quiet, simple Conrad. 

Ber. Have we not so much greater cause to love him? 

Wolf. Joseph shall go, then ; he was always sullen. 

Ber, He sullen ! then your harshness made him so ; 
He ne'er was disobedient to his mother. 

Wolf. Frederick, whose whining hath so oft annoy' d 
us. 

Ber. That delicate boy yet needs a mother's care. 

Wolf. William is wild ; we can spare him. 

Ber. Oh husband ! 
Was he not like a lamb when you lay ill, 
And praying every hour for his poor father ? 

Wolf Gustavus, then — 

Ber. Rather kill me at once 
Than take my darling boy, who ev'ry night 
Slumbers upon my bosom ! 

[A pause. Bertha wrings her hands, and then stands 
motionless, absorbed in thought. 

Wolf. How can I torture her with farther questions ! 
She feels herself how hard it is to chuse ! 
Each child, when danger threatens, is the dearest. 
(To Bertha.) Bethink thee, Bertha, and decide; 

meanwhile 
I will prepare the children. [Exit into the house. 



42 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Ber. {after a pause). Is that the man whose heart 
for fifteen years 
Responsive beat to mine ? — to whom I loved 
To tell my inmost thoughts, to ope my soul, 
To which his own in sympathy attun'd 
Harmoniously would vibrate ? Ah ! alas ! 
What unknown horrors now estrange me from him ! 
That marble heart no pray'rs, no tears, can move ! — 
How he tore from me ! His affection now 
Partakes not as it us'd in all my griefs. 
Alone I stand — all other feelings here 
Are silenc'd in this one — I am a mother ! — 
What is the State to me? — what all the world? 
I live but in my children ! — 

Can a father 
Aught of those thousand nameless cares conceive 
Which rack a mother's bosom ? For his nature 
Her joys are too refined. What can he know 
Of that extatic transport which she feels, 
When first his eager lips her babe applies 
To press the willing nipple ? — what of that, 
When from his ruby gum the budding tooth, 
Dearer to her than pearl or orient gem, 
First greets her anxious eye ? — or of her bliss, 
When from his tongue the first articulate sound 
Salutes her charmed ear? 

Man's rugged breast 
To such endearing sentiments is shut; 
And thus he can demand of me a choice 
Which cracks my heart-strings ! — No, it cannot be ! 
Com par' d with such a trial death were mercy ! 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 43 

[She is about to enter the house. Wolf meets her at 
the door, and clasps her in his arms .] 

Wolf. I heard thee, Bertha, and by Heav'n I swear 
Thou dost me wrong ! — my heart is not less scath'd 
Than is thine own. 

Ber. And I — I must confess, 
Thy words no longer strike those sweet accords 
Which they were wont within this tortur'd breast. — 
Accurs'd misgiving ! — were it possible 
That from this fond, fond heart, my love to thee, 
The father of my children, I must tear, 
Then were my cup of mis'ry full indeed ! — 
[She sinks from his arms upon a bench before the house. 
The Burgomaster enters. 

Burg. The public quiet is restor'd, and now 
Our matrons bow them to the rigid law 
Of dire necessity — deep sobs alone 
From forth the open doors assail the ear : 
Each in imagination hears the signal, 
To them more awful than the last dread trump. 

Ber. {tauntingly, in a low tone). Ha! here he 
comes ! — Naumburg's Chief Magistrate, 
So chosen by the citizens, who hoped 
Protection from his wisdom : — that he's wise 
Who can deny, when, to prolong the date 
Of his brief winter day, he coolly gives 
The vernal years of infants ? Gold he never 
Extorted from us — no — he is content 
With scores of children's lives, that he may die 
In quiet in his bed — the childless churl ! 
Wolf. Cease, Bertha, cease! 



44 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Burg. Nay, let her vent her griefs. — 
It is the common lot of those who rule, 
That on their shoulders still is laid the charge 
Of all the ills that e'er befall the State. 
If Fate's stern mandates they cannot control ; 
If the wing'd lightnings by a magic word 
They cannot charm ; if unkind seasons blast 
The farmers' hopes ; if 'neath the boiling waves 
Rich fleets are whelm' d — what boots it that their toils, 
Or prudent counsels, may have sav'd the land 
From Anarchy's fell gripe, and foil'd rebellion ! 
'Tis all forgot — straight on their luckless heads 
Light the deep curses of their thoughtless people. 

Wolf. Posterity at least will render justice, 
And pay the debt of gratitude denied 
By their unthankful fathers. 

Burg. One doubt alone disturbs me ; it is this, 
Whether the little ones will find their way 
To the Bohemian Chieftain's camp. 

Wolf. I'll lead them! 

Ber. {with horror). What say'st thou, Wolf? 

Burg. A cruel death awaits 
If thither thou return'st — what could' st thou, then? 

Wolf. Share death or mercy with the infant troop. 

Burg, {grasping Wolf's hand). Well, be th' event 
committed to His hands 
Who governs all things ! 

Ber. So then at last thy deep design is out ! 
Boast of thy courage, while thy coward soul 
Broods o'er the plan to pluck from Death its sting 
For thine own person ! — For the lone despair 



THE PATEIOT FATHER. 45 

Of her whose fate is bound to thine thou reck'st not. 

Thou with the unconscious victims wilt go forth, 

And in the worst event fall with thy boys ; 

While to the dreary walls I pour my woes, 

And ev'ry racking moment of suspense 

Endure the horrors of a thousand deaths ! — 

Magnanimous, indeed! 

To shift thy portion of the cruel load 

On woman's feebler frame ! Oh ! it is plain, 

Thou know'st but how to die — not how to suffer ! — 

This time thou shalt not triumph — I will go ! 

I'll lead the infant troop, and though, like thee, 

I have no subtle speeches, no smooth words, 

Yet there is eloquence in woman's tears. 

Wolf, (in extreme agony). Heav'n grant the issue 
Prove as successful as the trial's hard ! 

Burg. Cheer up, good Bertha! — infant innocence 
The savage w r arriors' rage will sure disarm; 
For Nature hath on helpless loveliness 
Conferr'd a spell more potent than their swords. 

Ber. Can there be mercy in the rav'ning tiger, 
To whom the bloody banquet gives fresh gust 
For human carnage? (Distractedly.) Ha! see there! 

the monsters ! 
See, how they whet their swords ! — Now, now, they 

seize 
The struggling victims by their silken locks ! 
And now they drag them with exulting yells ! 
'Tis my Gustavus! — hold! ye demons — hold! 

\_As the last word dies away on her lips, she sinks 
senseless into the arms of Wolf, who places her upon 



46 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

the ground, reclining against the bench. Meanwhile 
the drum begins to beat. Weeping mothers arrive from, 
all sides, some leading their infants by the hand, others 
carrying them in their arms. Their appearance rouses 
Wole, who, with his eyes fixed on his wife, has been 
hitherto plunged in a profound reverie. He opens the 
door of his house, and calls out his eight children. He 
makes them kneel around their insensible mother, whose 
drooping hand he places upon the head of the youngest. 
He stands for a few moments in the attitude of prayer. 
The mothers, in various groups, take leave of their 
children, embrace them for the last time, and with 
averted faces motion them to go. The children assem- 
ble in the background, on the steps of the Town-house. 
The Burgomaster waves his hand, and the drum ceases : 
he goes up to the children, and attempts to speak, but is 
prevented by the violence of his emotion. A pause 
succeeds, in which nothing is heard but the sobs of the 
distracted mothers.'] 

Burg. Go, and may all good angels be your safe- 
guard ! 

[He gives the signal for departure — Wolf heads the 
procession, which begins to move.~\ 

CHORUS. 

Your fathers' trembling lips their blessings pour ; 
Your mothers' tears attend you on your way ; 
Your country's fate, in this decisive hour, 
Is link'd to yours. Heav'n grant this last essay 
May melt the stubborn hearts of Naumburg's foes, 
And turn our dire alarms to sweet repose ! 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 47 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. — The Camp of the Hussites on the hills 
before Naumburg. In the middle of the stage appears 
the tent of Procopius. In the foreground, on the left, 
three of his Officers are reclining on the turf On the 
right a sentinel walks to and fro. In the background 
others of the Hussites are seen forming various groups. 

First Soldier sings. 

When the red falchions clash 

In combat dire ; 
In the fir'd convents' crash 

When nuns expire ; 
When childless mothers' groans 

In ev'ry street, 
And infants' dying moans 

Make music sweet ; 

CHORUS. 
In the bloody affray then join all ye brave bands ; 
Let Revenge steel your hearts, let Revenge nerve your hands! 

Second Soldier sings. 

Scar'd from the couch of Death 

By Horror's train, 
When the sick yield their breath 

On piles of slain ; 
When tender virgins raise 

Shrieks of despair, 
And Age in vain essays 

To pour the pray'r ; 

CHORUS. 
In the bloody affray then join all ye brave bands ; 
Let Revenge steel your hearts, let Revenge nerve your hands ! 



b THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

First Officer. Hold, my fine fellows, hold ! your 
song's too tender : 
I can't endure such melting melodies. 

Second .Officer. Well said! when bloated priests 
broil in the flames, 
Or children's skulls against the bloody pavement 
Are dash'd, then other tones salute the ear. 

First Officer. The sun is high — why loll we here 
inactive ? 
Our this day's task we might ere now have done. 
Why give this respite to the Papist dogs? 

Third Officer. For their last pray'r. 

Second Officer. A needless favour, faith ! — 
They must be damn'd at last. 

First Officer. Plenty of work 
Is yet left for our arms here in Thuringia, 
Ere we can boast us, in our native land, 
That Huss's death has fully been reveng'd. 

Sentinel. Look yonder ! 

Second Officer. What is't? 

Sentinel. The valley's all in motion ! 

First Officer. The mice would scarcely venture 
from their hole 
While the cat sits before it. 
[TJiey rise, go towards the Sentinel, and look down the hill. 

Second Officer. By all the devils ! 
What can it be? 

First Officer. The valley sure enough is all alive, 
Just like an ant-hill. There is something too 
That dazzles as the sun from snow reflected. 

Third Officer. 'Tis not the glare of arms, though. 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 49 

Second Officer. Wait a moment, 
Till they have pass'd yon rock, round which the path 
Winds upward : then we shall discern them better. 

First Officer. Look where they come ! 

Second Officer. Is't magic, comrade? 
Or what see'st thou? 

First Officer. Why, unless Satan place 
Unreal visions 'fore mine eyes, they're children. 

Second Officer. So, as I live, they are ! 

First Officer. And many yet so small, as if but now 
Dropp'd from their nurses' laps. 

TJiird Officer. The steep hill tires them. 

Second Officer. See ! the larger lend 
Their hands to help the little urchins on. 

First Officer. Ay, come; ye here shall find a 
resting-place, 
And we will kindly ease you of the toil 
Of going back. 

Third Officer. I can perceive among them 
One man alone. 

Second Officer. The same, if right I ken, 
Who on that bootless errand came this morning. 

First Officer. This time he will receive the due 
reward 
Of his audacity. 

Second Officer. But see, how briskly 
The little wretches tow'rd us still advance, 
As though the most convenient place they thought 
To find here for their sports ! 

Third Officer. 'Tis droll, indeed ! 

Second Officer. I will acquaint the General. 

D 



50 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 



First Officer. Procopius hath to-day received good 
tidings 
From far Bohemia, from his wife and children, 
And in his gaiety an extra cup 

He drank, which hath o'erpowered him, and he takes 
A brief repose. 

Second Officer. I'll wake him. 
{To the soldiers, many of whom have successively 

gathered round the Officers. ) 
Ye, meanwhile, 

Firmly present your spears and keep them back, 
Till by our Gen'ral shall the word be giv'n 
For slaughter. 

First Officer. Soldiers, do what he commands ! 

[He 'places himself at their head ; and they occupy, 
with presented spears, the whole side on which the chil- 
dren are ascending.] 

Still they come nearer, and but little seem 
To care about our spears. Ho ! hoa ! back there ! 
Fall back, ye little wretches! — are ye blind? 
Will ye run on the pikes? — Back! back, I say! 

[The children advance in aline along the whole side 
of the stage, with folded hands, and their eyes fixed on 
the Hussites, regardless of the spears of the latter. 
Step by step, as they come forward, the Hussites in- 
volwitarily retire to the opposite side.] 
It is most strange ! sure we must be bewitch'd ! 
Shame on you ! — keep your ground ! 

[The Hussites recede to the other side of the stage, 
and are at length obliged to raise the points of their 
spears to avoid wounding the children.] 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 51 

What power unseen deprives my arm of strength ! — 

What numbing chillness courses through my veins ! — 

What spell enchains us ! This must he enchantment ! 

Children (quickly forming a circle round the tent 

of Procopius, where they fall on their knees). Mercy ! 

Mercy! Mercy! 

[Wole stands aside, in the front of the stage, in the 

attitude of prayer. Procopius, with hurried step, 

comes out of his tent. His face gloivs with rage. The 

children lift up their clasped hands to him. He stops, 

astonished at the sight of them.'] 

Pro. Mercy ! — What may this mean ? Ha ! whose 
presumption 
Dares tamper with me thus? — (To the children.) Rise ! 
rise ? I order you ! 
[He snatches up the two children nearest to him with 
violence by their arms, and a7igrily advances. The 
children attempt to cling about him, but he spurns 
them from him.] 
Nay, nay, begone! 

Twine yourselves not around me, little snakes ! — 
Who hath contrived this? (Discovers Wolf.) Thou 

here again, 
Audacious man ! spite of my prohibition ? 

Wolf (with profound humility). As deputy of 
Naumburg thou forbad' st me 
To appear again before thee — not as Father. 

Pro. Who taught thee, insolent, thus to interpret 
My words? 

Wolf. My confidence i' th' magnanimity 
Of a brave Prince. 

d 2 



52 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Pro. Thou but deceiv'st thyself, 
And giv'st these infants to the fatal axe. 

Wolf. The lordly lion slays no puny foe — 
He seeks but victims worthy of his strength. 

Pro. Think ye, with flattery, with children's tears, 
To cozen men ? — Oh most courageous people ! 

Wolf. As for my courage — put it to the test. 

Pro. How, if I take thee, braggart, at thy word ! 

Wolf. Only spare Naumburg, and dispose of me 
Even as thou wilt ! 

Pro. Say, then, which are thy children; 
Their blood alone shall quench my hot revenge. 

Wolf {horror-struck, after some pause). If thou 
wilt spare the rest — why — be it so ! 

Pro. Their forfeit lives shall pay the city's ransom. 

Wolf {shuddering). O Heaven! I bow me to Thy 
dread decree ! 

Pro. Where are the wretches, that my sword may 
speed 
Its destin'd task? 

Wolf First swear by Huss's blood 
That Naumburg shall be safe. 

Pro. Well, by the blood 
Of martyr' d Huss, I swear it ! 

Wolf. Thou wilt grant 
One favour more — let me die with my children ! 

Pro. No, thou shalt live — thou shalt but see them 
suffer. 

Wolf. Thou keep'st thy word, when tortures un- 
devis'd 
Thou did'st denounce. 



THE PATKIOT FATHER. 53 

Pro. What ! thy heart fails thee, dastard ! 

Wolf. Hath not a father's eyes betray'd his lambs? 
And must he lead them to the block himself? — 
Nature, thou art too strong ! — indeed I cannot ! 

Pro. Demand' st thou oaths for makegames? 

Wolf. Who plays the cruellest game here, thou or I? 

Pro. Driv'ler, dar'st thou remonstrate? 

Wolf. Alas ! whom shall we deem magnanimous, 
If conquerors want that virtue ? Yet bethink thee, 
That thou, like us, may'st once have need of mercy ; 
That while thy victor sword thou here imbruest 
In harmless infants' gore, thy foes perchance 
May overrun thine own Bohemia's plains, 
And prowl, like famish'd wolves, in search of prey 
Ev'n to thy palace, where thy helpless babes, 
As these, may lift their little hands for mercy, 
But lift in vain. With Saxon trophies rich, 
When home thou hiest, crown' d with triumphant 

wreaths, 
And find'st the bloody witness of thy loss 
Within thy desolate walls — then, Prince, thou'lt feel 
Some portion of the pangs thou now inflictest. 

Pro. Presumptuous ! die ! {Drawing his sword upon 
Wolf.) 

Wolf's Children (all rushing from among their 
companions and surrounding him). Oh ! father ! 
father! father! 

[Procopius stands motionless. 

Wolf [clasping his children in his arms in one group). 
They have betray'd themselves ! — thou know'st them 
now ! — 



54 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Not one remained behind ! 

A father's life was dearer than their own : — 

Now kill my boys, if thou'st the heart to do it. 

Pro. (furiously). Die, little wretches ! [He seizes 
one of the children, and, looking him in the face, sud- 
denly starts back in wild astonishment. He stoops to 
examine his features more closely. ~] 
How cam'st thou hither, Ferd — 
(Aside.) O no, no, no, it cannot be my Ferdinand! 
And yet so like him ! 

Child. O, how 111 love thee, 
If thou'lt not kill my father ! 

[Throwing his arms round the neck of Procopius and 
kissing him.'] 

One of the Younger Children. And so will I. 

Another. And I too. 

The Eldest. O, do not hurt my father ! — 
If for our sakes thou'rt not dispos'd to mercy, 
Did'st thou but know how our poor mother loves him, 
Thou would'st relent — I'm sure she would die too, 
Were he not to return with us — and then, 
Father and mother gone — poor friendless outcasts, 
Our only restingplace would be the grave. — 
Yet, if thou must have blood, I pray thee, take 
My life — I sha'n't be miss'd — but kill my father, 
Thou killest mother, brothers, all, in him ! 

[Procopius, deeply affected, slowly returns his sword 
to the sheath, and looks round, first at the children, who 
have again thrown themselves upon their knees about 
him, and then at his soldiers, the ferocity of whose 
looks gradually softens into pity.] 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 55 

Pro. I won't dissemble, comrades : since this heart 
First learn'd to throb, it ne'er receiv'd a shock 
So fierce as this. If, then, your sentiments 
Accord with mine — if ye're inclined to mercy, 
Lower your spears. [ All the Hussites lower their spears. 
So be it! {Aloud.) Mercy! mercy! rise, be joyous ! 

[ The children joyfully repeat the word Mercy, and 
crowd round Procopius, kissing his hands and embracing 
his knees. Moved by their artless caresses, he lifts up 
one after another and kisses them. Wole meanwhile 
kneels in silent prayer.] 

Pro. Bring bread, and wine, and fruit, that our 
young guests, 
After their terrors, may regale themselves ! 
Send our musicians too, and let them play 
A cheerful tune — let the whole camp be merry ! 

[Several Hussites hasten to obey his commands. 

Wolf. The anguish'd heart found words — in joy 
'tis dumb. 

Pro. I feel as I had won a victory, 
And yet stand here subdued by feeble children I 

[Attendants bring him wine. He fills a bowl, and 
hands it to one of the girls. 

Here, drink, my pretty maid, drink and be cheery, 
And let the bowl right merrily go round ! 

Wolf {wiping Ms eyes). Flow, flow, ye drops of joy ! 

[ Tlie band behind the scenes strikes up a national air. 

Pro. Oh! welcome sounds! 
How ye remind me of my much-lov'd home ! — 
Bring my camp-chair, that 'mid this happy throng 
I may enjoy myself. 



56 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

[An attendant brings the camp-chair, upon which 
Procopius seats himself. Other attendants enter with 
baskets of fruit, which they distribute among the chil- 
dren. Meanwhile the music is accompanied by the fol- 
lowing song.] 

Ye little strangers, freely 

Indulge in mirth and joy ; 
And let not cruel memory 

Your happiness annoy. 
The sparkling bowl quaff gaily, 

And share the simple treat, 
Exulting in your victory, 

As we in our defeat. 

[During this song, the children encircle Procopius, 
and begin to sport round him till the music ceases.'] 

Pro. Good ! good ! ye almost make a child of me. 

Wolf. Though Vict'ry sheds her glories o'er thy 
host, 
And binds her laurels round thy conqu'ring brow, 
Say, mighty Prince, if these can glad thy heart, 
Like one such hour as this. The time will come, 
When Peace shall lead thy war-tir'd legions home, 
And your ensanguin'd swords have rest. Perchance, 
Mem'ry may then revolve the deeds of blood 
Done by thy followers. Busy Fancy, too, 
Perchance, may picture hideous, threat 'ning ghosts, 
Begash'd with wounds — mothers, with broken hearts, 
In Death's convulsive agonies, beside 
The mangled corses of their murder' d offspring. 
May then the sweet remembrance of this day 
Banish the fearful phantoms ! May the scene 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 57 

Thou here beholdest and the joys thou shar'st 
Be feelingly renew' d ! 

A Hussite {entering hastily). Sir, in the valley 
An armed force, of strange accoutrement, 
Cover' d, as it would seem, with large white shields, 
Is seen to approach the hills. 

Pro. Treachery! treachery! 

The Hussite. Sufficient reinforcements we've de- 
spatch' d 
To our advanc'd posts, to prevent surprise ; 
In a few moments we shall ascertain 
What unknown foe thus threats us. 

Pro. Ha ! traitor, thought ye by this mummery 
To lull our vigilance, and unawares 
To fall upon us? {Drawing his sword.) From our top- 
most height 
We'll hurl these slaughter' d hostages upon you ! 

Wolf. Hold, Prince ! it is not — it cannot be so ! 
Inform yourself — there must be some mistake. 

Hussite. A breathless messenger already comes 
With quick pace up the hill. 

Second Hussite enters. 

Pro. {hastily). Who is the foe? Speak, man! 

Second Hussite. A false alarm ! — 
The women of the town in long white scarfs, 
Which in the distance show'd at first so strangely. 

Wolf. The mothers of these children. 

Second Hussite. They're within bow-shot of our 
posts; so near 
Indeed that we distinctly hear the sounds 



58 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Of sighs and lamentations. I have order' d 
Our spearmen to obstruct their farther progress. 

Wolf. Prince! complete 
The work of grace ! Eestore these tender objects 
To their distracted mothers — peace to Naumburg ! 
Think that each moment of suspense must be 
An age to their impatience. 

Pro. Go ! go in peace ! Break branches from the 
trees, 
And, as ye near the city, wave them high — 
High o'er your heads — join in one general shout: 
Victory o'er the Hussites ! — Victory ! — 
Move in procession to your Senate-house — 
There say : Procopius, the Bohemian General, 
Sends friendly greeting, and he bids me tell you, 
To-morrow's early sun shall find no trace 
Of his battalions on your hills — for he 
Is vanquish'd by your children ! — Go in peace ! — 
Go ! ye'll unman me quite ! — my lov'd wife, 
My darling babes, would I were now with you ! 

[He retires slowly to his tent. 
Wolf. Bear with thee in thy bosom the convic- 
tion, 
That to the mighty, conscious of his strength, 
The exercise of mercy is more sweet 
Than vengeance wreak' d on a defenceless foe ! 

[Martial music. The children retire two by two. 
Wolf looks on with evident delight, and follows 
them.] 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 59 



ACT V. 

Scene I. — An open place before the gates of Naum- 
burg, with gentle hills on the left. Upon and about 
these hills the women are seen sitting or standing in 
attitudes indicative of grief On the opposite side, in 
the foreground, appears Bertha, absorbed in silent 
reverie .] 

CHORUS. 
Ah ! what anxious hopes and fears 

Rack the fond maternal breast ! 
Better far the threat'ning spears 

Of our foes had giv'n us rest ! 

While the purple current steals 

Through a mother's throbbing veins, 

For her child her bosom feels 
All Affection's joys and pains. 

None but that Celestial Pow'r, 

Who hath plac'd such passions there, 

Can, in this distressing hour, 
Lighten each sad mother's care. 

Ber. 'Tis well for them ! — 
Now their despair resolves to gentler sorrow ; 
Ere grief can vent itself in tones like these, 
The tortur'd bosom mnst more freely breathe. 
To me alone hath niggard Fate denied 
Community of solace, not of woe. 
But why to me alone ? Oh ! why hath horror 
Absorb'd my senses, feelings, faculties? 
And why to these the kind relief of tears 



60 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Hath Nature giv'n, but to my strained eyes 

Refus'd that boon? — 

She is no stepdame either : all her children 

Are equal objects of her fostering care. 

Ah ! she relents — and now the soothing drops 

Rush to their wonted channels., and distil, 

Like dews refreshing on the parched soil. [ Weeping. 

Burg, (coming from the gate, and approaching 
Bertha). 
The sentry station'd in the watch-tow'r tells 
That in the camp extraordinary bustle — 

Ber. So, then, the work of slaughter is begun ! — 
The heartless butchers ply their bloody trade ! — 
Kneeling upon their brothers' carcasses, 
The infants yield their throats to the fell stroke, 
And, with a grin of hellish joy, the murd'rers 
Brandish their glist'ning swords ! 

Burg. No ! nothing of the kind ! Nor sword nor 
lance 
Their dazzling glare in the sun's beams throw back 
Upon the watchman's eye : he deem'd it rather 
A scene of merriment. 

Ber. Ah! very true! what need have they of arms? 
A knife were quite sufficient to despatch 
Our whole flock of defenceless lambs — while we — 
We feel no apprehensions for their -fate — 
Oh, no ! and when their bleeding bodies, hurl'd 
Adown the steepy crags, roll to our feet, 
Why, then each mother, with a stoic's firmness, 
Will calmly scoop her little one a grave — 
The while some childless man looks kindly on, 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 61 

Consoles her with a few unmeaning words, 
And tells perhaps a prayer for their souls. 

Burg. If it can lighten 
Thy grief-oppressed heart to rail at me, 
Because the greedy grave hath long since clos'd 
On my last hope — rail on! Misfortune's rights 
Still I hold sacred — and ne'er shall reflections, 
However keen, stifle within my bosom 
That sympathy which others' woes demand. — 
In vain too would a parent's anxious care 
Blight the young buds of my reviving hope. 
Oft in the course of this protracted life, 
When the last ray of earthly happiness 
Seem'd in the gloom of black despair extinct, 
Hath Heav'n a beam of consolation sent, 
And turn'd my mourning into gratitude. 

One of the Women (looking stedfastly, like many of 
her companions, towards the camp). See ! see ! — 
what is it that so suddenly 
Appears in motion on the topmost hills ? — 
Oh, for the eagle's wing to cleave the air ! — 
Oh, for the falcon's eye to pierce the distance ! — 
Like white lambs skipping down the mountain's slope 
Lower and lower still doth it descend ! 

Ber. (with alarm). What is it that ye see? 

Bury. The dawn of Hope. 

One of the Women. Now — now more plainly may 
it be perceiv'd ! 

Ber. Say what? 

Woman. There ! there, on the declivity ! — 
Now they come singly ! yes, it is — 'tis they ! 



62 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Ber. {with extreme anxiety). Who? 

Woman. 'Tis the children ! 

A 11. Our children ! 

[The Burgomaster, in a transport of gratitude, 
raises his clasped hands towards heaven. ,] 

Ber. O no ! no ! no ! — 
Your anxious love hath hut deceiv'd itself, 
And spread a fond delusion 'fore your sight. — 
O, contradict me ! 

Woman. Yes, 'tis they indeed ! — 
The elder briskly run before, the younger 
Follow with slower step. 

Ber. But are they all there? 

Woman. All. 

Ber. Oh that these trembling limbs could mount 
the height, 
I'd count them with a single glance ! 

Woman. All! all! and see — the foremost now 
have reach'd 
The valley. 

Ber. Tell me, do you see my husband? 

Woman. We see him. 

Ber. {falling on her knees, and raising her hands). 
Heav'n be prais'd ! he lives ! they live ! 

Woman. He carries in his arms one of the children. 

Ber. {in alarm). Dead — I suppose? 

Woman. O no ; the youngest. 

Ber. And yet why carry him ? he must be sick, 
Or hurt perhaps? 

Burg. May not so small a child 
More likely be fatigued? 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 63 

Woman. There, now he stops — 
He beckons to the foremost boys, and marshals 
The little troop — and takes himself the lead. 
Now — now — they wave green boughs above their 

heads, 
And like a grove the whole move onward now ! — 
What can this mean but peace ? Yes ! we're deliver'd ! 

All (advancing to the front of the stage). Blessed be 
Providence ! we are deliver'd ! 

Children (shouting at a distance.) Victory o'er the 
Hussites ! Victory ! 

\_A throng of joyful citizens come out at the gate, 
mingle with the women, share their transports, and im- 
patiently await the arrival of the children.] 

[Wolf rushes almost breathless upon the stage, car- 
rying his two youngest children. Bertha opens her 
arms to receive them.] 

Wolf. There, Bertha, I have brought them all safe 
back 
To thy maternal arms, but the two youngest 
Are weary: let them rest upon thy bosom. 

Ber. (clasping them in her arms). My darlings! 

[ Hie children come up, waving their branches with 
signs of joy and exultation. Their fathers and mothers 
respectively single out their own, and instantly a num- 
ber of different groups are formed.] 

Wolf (looking at them with deep emotion). What 
a delicious scene ! — Methinks from Heav'n 
Well-pleas'd the Almighty Father doth survey it. 

\_After a pause, he collects himself and respectfully 
goes up to the Burgomaster.] 



64 THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Worshipful Sir, Procopius, the Bohemian, 

In peace sends greeting to you, and assures 

That, ere the sun renews his daily course, 

His host shall leave our hills — no ransom wrung 

From our necessity — our fields unravag'd — 

Nay, not a hair shall suffer injury : 

For — so he says — he's vanquish'd by our children. 

Burg. Come to my heart, thou virtuous citizen ! 
And you — ye men of Naumburg — ne'er forget 
What in the hour of deep distress ye ow'd 
To this your humble townsman ! From this day, 
His children to the gen'ral State belong, 
And be an ample recompence bestow'd 
Upon himself for his good services. 
Nor shall the public gratitude stop here, 
But in the memory of posterity 
His name shall be embalm'd. 

Wolf. O! 'tis too much ! — 
For truly the success with which kind Heav'n 
Hath pleas'd to crown the deed, is recompence 
Sufficient for the risk : however flattering 
The favours you propose, I need them not. 
Contented with the fruits of industry, 
To these my boys I've giv'n a second life ; 
But for my native town I have perform' d 
A Patriot's duty only. — All the wealth 
A monarch could bestow would not increase 
My sum of happiness. Honours and fortune 
Are precious boons, I grant : but far less sweet 
Than the delight which fills his honest breast 
Who from no sordid motive serves his country. 



THE PATRIOT FATHER. 65 

No hireling I! — nor for reward I've acted: 
But if to me ye think aught owing by you, 
Transfer it to my children : for myself, 
I ask but love while living, and respect 
When Death shall call me hence. 

Burg. Mine be the care 
To reconcile the feelings of thy heart, 
So delicate and gen'rous, with our duty. 

First Sen. {advancing from the gate). New and 
strange tidings from his lofty station 
Our watch hath just announc'd. In haste, the foe 
Breaks up his camp; the fires become extinct; 
The tents have vanish' d, as autumnal leaves, 
Swept from the parent stem by northern blasts. 
The banners float ; the troops are marching off ; 
Their last battalions only stud the hills, 
Like ling'ring patches of December snows, 
Dissolv'd by breath of Spring. 

Wolf. Then hath he kept his word ! 

Burg. O memorable day, so gloriously 
Mark'd by Heav'n's bountiful interposition, 
Be thou distinguish'd in our calendar, 
And kept with solemn rites by future ages ! 
Oft as the sun proclaimeth thy return, 
Our troop of gladsome children to the hills 
Shall hie them forth, and round the Monument 
Rais'd where Procopius' colours proudly wav'd, 
In sportive gambols mingle ; while this spot, 
Water'd with mothers' tears, no trenchant plough 
Shall e'er disturb. Returning home at eve, 
The joyous infant band, with waving boughs, 

E 



o 



ti& THE PATRIOT FATHER. 

Shall raise the exulting shout of Victory /— 
Victory o'er the Hussites /— Victory ! — 
That thus the mem'ry of our stern alarms 
And great deliv'rance be transmitted down 
From sire to son, till Time's remotest date. 

CHORUS. 
'Gainst a host of fierce invaders 

We sent forth our infant bands, 
Nought but innocence to shield them 

From the savage warriors' hands. 
Though fond mothers, broken-hearted, 

Each lov'd child as lost deplor'd, 
And as victims they departed, 

Yet as Victors they're restor'd. 

[The music changes to a march, on which the people 
begin to move. The children, waving their boughs, 
open the procession : the parents follow ; and last of 
all come the Burgomaster and Senators. While they 
are passing through the gate, the curtain falls.'] 



F. SHOBERL, JUNIOR, I^^a^^^^^ PRINTER 

€o $ts Eopal fttgftness Vpj& ~ „j£" prince a Iftert. 

51, RUPERT STREET, M|S#, ',- ., r , Jig& HATMARKET, LONDON. 



